Just One Yesterday
by midnightquiver
Summary: Once the lights went out for Troy Otto that was it.He got what he deserved...but then he woke up. The sun is blistering hot in the bayou outside New Orleans.With no idea how he ended up in Louisiana and no memories of the last few months,Troy gets a second chance.He isn't wasting it.But then his past reappears, threatening what he has. Longer description inside. After s3.
1. Chapter 1

**It has been a while since I've started a new FF. Kind of excited. I also heard there isn't much happening in the FTWD section, so that also has me excited. I hope to reel people in.**

 **For the most part this is just a preview to see how you all respond. I'm still working on a bit of this so it may be a few weeks before I get seriously started. I hope you all enjoy!**

 **The character limit for story description too damn short so I've provided the full below:**

 **Miracle. Second chance. Yeah, whatever. All he knew is that he couldn't mess it up. Not this time. Not again.**

 **Once the lights went out for Troy Otto that was it. He got what he deserved. But then he wakes up after a blow to the head that should've ended his life. A blow to the head he doesn't remember at all.**

 **The sun is blistering hot in the bayous outside New Orleans and Troy is lucky to be alive. With no idea how he made it to Louisiana and no memories of the last few months, he starts over with the group of people who found him. There are no walkers within twenty miles. Food is fresh, for the most part. Defenses are strong. But, Troy can still feel a shadow lingering over him, the one that is so distrustful of everyone and everything, but he can't listen to it. He afraid of what might happen if he does.**

 **The past somehow finds him and it isn't long before all hell breaks loose, threatening his new friends and his new life, making walkers seem like the least of everyone's problems. What will he do to keep it all?**

* * *

"Is he alive? He doesn't look alive. He looks bludgered. He looks dead, Tuck."

"He's still breathing." Whoever this Tuck was, he sounded surprised.

A snort. It was something caught between sarcasm and disbelief.

"Barely."

That was three voice he could track, but only faintly. They sound far away and garbled like he was under water. He wasn't alive. He knew this much. No, he was very much dead. Had to be. Knew on some deep and hazy level that he deserved to be.

"He's still breathing and we're going to do whatever we can to keep him that way."

"You're a softie, Tuck." There was a chuckle.

He couldn't do that though. He couldn't even move. His entire body ached and surged with sharp pain. Why would these people save him anyway?

"Have you seen Ryan?"

"No." There was an audible sigh. "You know Ry's a free spirit. Very imp-like."

"I know, Ryan's a personal pain in my ass."

"Don't you worry about that. I've got it under control."

"With what? That ESP bullshit?" A grumble of laughter. This one was from deep down in one's stomach. A raw belly laugh.

"Precisely. Ry's fine."

The light argument kept on. Who was Ryan? Was he mad? By the sounds of it, possibly.

A soft tickle brushed across his face. Was that wind? He tried to move, wanted to move, but there was no such luck.

"Find Trick and have him check on our newest arrival here."

"Got it."

"I still think he's dead." The first voice said again. She sounded young. A kid. A snotty one, too.

The voices faded away, but there were no footsteps suggesting that they were walking away. They were gone. Then so was he.

* * *

 **The Canopy**

A deep inhale. His lungs filled, lifting his chest. The first real breath he'd taken in god knows how long. And it felt good. The air was fresh and humid.

"Hey, I think he's waking up."

He worked his eyes under his lids, skating them side to side. They were heavy.

"Open your eyes."

As if on command, he did. Bright sunlight forced him to close them again. His head ached and throbbed on an unbearable level. It felt like his skull was on fire and was getting pounded over and over. Enough that he wanted to be dead. Dead dead. Not grunting and oozing and walking dead. He shuddered and more pain shot down his body. He opened his eyes again and was met with a grin attached to a man. He was blonde, close to his age it seemed, though the crow's feet around his eyes and his stubble made him look older than that. Today's world aged everyone quicker.

"He lives." His voice dipped with a long, drawn out drawl. Very much like the kids back on the Ranch that stole off to get stoned out of their minds.

He looked at the man as a whole. He certainly wasn't from around The Ranch.

"Dude, you know who you are?"

No words. They were in his head. Yeah, sure. He knew who he was. The words just weren't making it past the lump in his throat.

"We found you washed up on the shores of a river that broke through here. You were barely kicking. Soaking up water and bleeding pretty bad. You're a fighter though. Hung on like a koala to its mama. I did everything I could…oh, right." The man whipped out a pen and clicked it. He flinched as a bright light flashed in his eyes. He blinked rapidly. "Follow my fingers would you? Gotta check for brain damage."

He did. It was easy enough. His head still ached, making his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and sticky.

"Do you remember how you got here, bro? I mean I know I said you washed up, but uh, you look far from wherever you hail from."

He shook his head. He couldn't recall much of anything. His head throbbed harder, spikes of pain shooting around in his skull. The man sighed, pursing his lips. Not disappointment. Confusion and frustration. He knew those feelings.

"Well, hm. How about you try your name again? You know who you are? It'd be real helpful. Everyone has been coming up with their own names for you."

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"Troy." There was no sound behind it, just air and like there was gravel lodged in his throat.

"Like the city. Nice." The man nodded and then frowned. "Well, the city got destroyed a lot originally, so not really nice…anyway…I'm Trick. Your caretaker."

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Trick was in and out of the room, keeping track of the amount of water he was getting, giving him food, making sure he wasn't brain dead. Why wasn't he braindead? He'd felt the dent in his temple. He should be a goner. And why didn't he remember how he got it? Or anything before that? The only things he could recall was not long after the walker breakout. People had started showing up at the Ranch…and then it was foggy.

He'd been confined to his room until he could move around stably—or even just get up—and keep down food. Both were difficult. And this room…really weird, round room, was his prison. Though, as far as prisons went, this one wasn't so bad. It was better than the one mother and father put him in back home. He got fresh clothes. Free food. There was a window. It looked out over a wide forest of trees and sky. The room, which was a decent enough size, was holding to the side of a trunk, which is what made it round. The ground was more than fifty feet down. There were other room/buildings, too. All of them looked expertly crafted. Each were connected by bridges. He'd seen a few people cross them, but they didn't see him. Nobody saw him but Trick.

That was fine. He got a feeling that was for the best. He didn't know this place and this place didn't know him. Maybe they were hoping he'd lead them back to the Ranch for resources. They'd kill him once they discovered there was no ranch. It was what he deserved, too.

"How are we feeling today, sunshine?"

Trick had gotten in a habit of calling him that. It was annoying as hell.

"Head is killing me." It was the same answer that he replied with every time he came by.

They went through the drill of questions; all of them being for his benefit to make sure he was getting better. And to also see if he was remembering anything.

Troy hadn't been keeping track of the days very well, but it had to of been at least a month since his arrival.

"I brought Tuck today," Trick said. "He wanted to wait until you were copasetic before bombarding you. He's a chill dude."

Troy nodded numbly. He honestly didn't care. The leader of this place was bound to come around.

An older gentleman, one who looked very close to his father's age, though he was much taller than the man, walked in. He smiled kindly enough. He was a big man, filled the doorway well enough. Troy swallowed hard. Was this the moment they tried to get info out of him or worse?

"It's good to see you up and around. We were worried for a while. Trick is good, though for a drop out med student. He took good care of you." Tuck smiled wider with pride.

"I do with what I got," Trick said.

"Where am I?" Troy asked.

"Where are you from?" Tuck countered.

"Uh," for a moment he couldn't recall. "Texas, I think."

Tuck whistled. Trick's eyebrows shot up. Both of them were surprised and that made Troy nervous.

"Bro, you're damn lucky to be alive. Like, you got an angel or somethin," Trick said.

"You're in Louisiana, son," Tuck told Troy.

Louisiana? How the hell? Troy's eyes widened and he stopped breathing for a moment. How was he alive? This was majorly fucked up.

"Come on," Tuck said, ushering him toward the door. "You must be stir-crazy. Let me show you around. Dinner will be soon. The guys will be back from fishing and checking the traps."

"Ah, yeah," Trick droned out happily. "craw-dad night. Mmmm."

"What is this place?" Troy asked as he took his first step out of the room onto the balcony base that circled around the place.

"It's the end of the world, son." Tuck laughed dryly. "This is a home for anybody we find. Up here, we're far enough from the dead that they just walk on by and we don't get eaten."

"Isn't it dangerous up here?"

"Isn't it dangerous everywhere?" Tuck's eyebrows rose.

Troy nodded stiffly. Point made. Turning his head side to side, taking in all of the architecture, it was pretty nice. Not grand or perfect, but enough. It was livable and more so than other places.

"This the dead guy?"

The third voice he recalled belong to a young girl. The one he'd first heard upon waking up. She was not even half his height. She craned her head all the way back to take in the full view of him.

"It's Troy, Sophie. I told you. He's obviously alive," Tuck said. His lips pressed into a thin line in effort to not laugh.

"He still looks dead. Look how pale he is!" She exclaimed incredulously.

"Tiny human, I swear…" Trick trailed off, agitated.

Sophie shrugged, but winked.

"Glad you aren't dead. Hoping to hear a good story. You must have one or two." She walked.

"Hey," Tuck called. She turned. "Have you seen Ryan?"

"Nope. Ask Reed."

Trick hissed inward, grimacing.

"Oh boy."

"I'm going to whip that—" Tuck didn't finish. He pressed his pointer and middle finger to the bridge of his nose.

The comment made Troy curl up inside, but he could tell that Tuck wasn't serious. He wasn't angry. He was just scared. This guy was important.

"Trick, go find Reed. Ask him if you would."

"On it." Trick disappeared across the bridge off to the left that lead to another building.

Troy got a closer look at all of this. The trees were massive. Sturdy. Able to handle all of this weight. Built for it. This was a damn village. Completely unreal. He could hardly believe it.

By dusk, Troy had seen the med-quarter, pantry, more rooms—most people shared, though by choice. The rooms weren't mega huge so there were a couple of them and they were built in threes, stacking up on each other. Most of them. Troy and Tuck and a few others had the solo rooms. Bathrooms were limited and bathing was done on the ground at the lake about a half a mile off. The area for twenty-five miles around was clean, so Tuck had said. Troy hadn't noticed until he made that mention that he hadn't heard a single grunt or groan of the dead.

"The folks are really looking forward to meeting you," Tuck finished up.

"What's the catch?" Troy asked. He couldn't help it. Like any place that looked too good, there had to be something wrong. He looked down at his clothes as an example.

Tuck chuckled.

"You were almost dead. People are hard to find these days. We like to hold on to as many as possible. Have as close to a normal life as possible. No catch, Troy."

"And if you find a person who's…" his gut clenched, "done terrible things?"

He looked away from Tuck. The guy was so kind, but surely he had his limits.

"Then we do what we can to steer him clear of it. Help him. If he can't be helped then he goes to ground. We do our best not to kill people. Of course, that's not to say there haven't been accidents."

They strode across a bridge, its center bowing under their feet, that led to an open fire pit. The space was wide and people had already begun to gather. The trunk holding it up was large and it's thick, spanning branches held up around the edges. A coned roof hung over the open fire pit deck. Some shingles on it were worn or missing.

"I gather that you believe you've done some things before you came here." Tuck said. Troy stiffened and stopped breathing. "Think of this as a second chance. Don't waste it. Use it."

He smiled. The corners of Troy's lips pulled but he couldn't manage a full smile in return. He couldn't recall what got him here. It was still murky. And honestly? He hoped it stayed that way. He had a heavy feeling that it was horribly bad, so he didn't want to remember.

"Reed." Tuck called. A young man trotted over. Troy eyed him carefully. He was younger than him, but not by much. His hair was dark and cut short. "Have you seen Ryan?"

"Nope. Not since yesterday morning," he replied. His lips pressed into a thin line.

Tuck inhaled deeply.

Who was Ryan and why was he stressing everybody out?

"What about Lindsey and Grant?"

"Lindsey hasn't and Grant is the one who went along on the sudden trip."

"Who's Ryan?" Troy spoke up. The first time without being asked anything.

Reed looked at him, just realizing he was standing there. Odd. Over six feet tall, and he just noticed? Okay.

"My, uh, twin."

"Twin." Troy nodded on the word. "Hm. He can take care of himself, right?"

Tuck laughed softly. Reed smirked and shook his head, making it apparent that he was missing something.

"Yeah." Reed said plainly, his eyebrows flicking upward.

Was there a joke he didn't catch? Troy looked between the two of them, confused.

A loud thump and thunder rumbled across the fire pit and Tuck, Reed, and Troy turned to see a large sack on the deck. A man with flaming red, curly hair climbed up onto the deck, out of breath and pouring sweat. He wore cargo pants, boots and a green T-shirt. Sweat trickled over cheek. His eyebrow had a shiny ring through it.

"Holy feck, I'm starvin'." Giggles from two women erupted over the thick accented comment. Irishman.

"Grant." Reed greeted, walking over and patting him on the shoulder. "Where's Ryan? You two are late."

"Eh, Ry's around. You know your twin better then I."

"The little…" Tuck trailed off, his agitation rising again.

"Why's everyone worried about this person? I'm confused." Troy's face muddled with more confusion. Was this person God or something?

Reed ignored Troy's question and looked at Tuck.

"Alright. I'm going out and when I find Ry, I'll be back," he said.

Another stomp, much lighter than the ogre's, touched down behind Troy. He spun around fast, his fists clenching. Automatic reflex that made his heart jump up his throat.

Instantly, he released his hands as he took a sudden sharp intake.

"Geez, you guys talk like I'm the devil or something." Her voice was raw with giddiness.

Ryan was not a guy. He was a she. A short, small girl in green denim shorts and a grey tank top. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail that moved down the center of her back. Not girl, a woman, barely if that. Maybe twenty, like Reed. Maybe. Her eyes were wild and she smiled as if she just rolled in from the world's greatest adventure. There wasn't a lick of fear anywhere on her and, shamefully, he looked.

"The devil? Child, the devil has nothing on you," Tuck muttered.

Ryan smiled wider at that, like it was best compliment she'd ever received, and then looked at her brother.

"Oh come on, you knew I was going out on a scavenge. Don't look at me like that."

"You were out two days,' Reed said.

"It was farther off than we thought," Grant said. He turned and dug into the sack he'd dropped onto the deck. "And anyway," he pulled out a case and two dark green glass bottles of liquor, "we found libations."

"Holy shit," Reed laughed. He took one of the green bottle and opened it. His face puckered as he smelled. "Strong. Good."

Troy started at seeing Ryan standing in front of him, staring at him. The look on her face had morphed into one of curiosity, her exotic shaped eyes narrowing. She eyed the side of his head. The puncture to the side of his head.

"It's going to scar. Nasty by the looks of it," she said, looking at his bandaged head. She shrugged. "Didn't mess up your pretty face though. That's a plus."

She took a step back. And then another, but didn't look away.

Tuck had moved off to talk to Reed and Grant.

"You're tall, too." She didn't blush or flick her hair. She just stared…observing, measuring him up. To what, he didn't know and wasn't sure if he wanted to. "No wonder the girls around here were waiting on you. You're quite the dream, babe."

She shook her head to the side once, as if to say _damn_. Then, turning on her heel, she grabbed a pack, much smaller and ratty, off the floor and headed to where Trick and Sophie were. She sat between them and instantly they were laughing.

"She's cute, eh? A little sprite." Troy looked away quickly. A hand shot out in front of him, making him jump. "I'm Kenny."

Troy took the man's hand. The look in his eyes made him wary. He was dark, from the sun, and the tip of his voice was accented as well. Cajun, but not full. Scruff spread over his cheeks and down his throat. His broad jaw and shoulders told him he was tough, or liked to think he was.

"There are plenty of women around here. All very curious about you," Kenny said. The joking tone in his voice couldn't hide the threat. Kenny nodded at Ryan. "She's spoken for. Okay?"

Troy's eyes narrowed. Had he missed something? What had he done to give such a strange impression? Before he knew it, he was nodding. She hadn't been on his mind…not until now, when he said that.

"Okay."

Kenny grinned big, flashing his teeth, the strange, hidden threat vanished. That was even more unnerving and sent an alarm going off in Troy's head.

"I like you. We're going to be good friends." He patted Troy on the back.

Troy stiffened, trying to suppress a groan and a whimper, as a surge of pain racketed through his frame. Trick had told him to resist touching his temple. The gauze there kept it covered to avoid infection, but damn if it didn't itch and ache and everything else under the sun that made him want to dig his finger in it.

"Let's eat." Kenny guided him over to a bench that was open and they sat, all the while Ryan watched him carefully. Troy wasn't sure, but was it worry that he saw in her eyes. Worry for him? Did he even know what that was? He wasn't sure. No one had ever looked at him with that regard.

Kenny was a talker. A big one. And it wasn't hard to decipher truth from bullshit. He had this laugh that labeled him a blatant asshole. A few times, Trick made his way over to chat. Ryan hadn't once come over. She was visiting everywhere else but this very spot and Troy got the feeling that her being spoken for by Kenny was a load of shit.

The crowd thinned after a while until only Reed, Tuck, Grant and Troy remained at the pit. The three gentlemen were still in intense talk about a trip to thin out the dead. Troy mostly listened and spaced out, staring at the embers of the dying fire.

"You're still awake?"

Troy looked up. Ryan stood off to the side. He hadn't even heard her come over.

"Yeah," he replied. "What's your excuse?"

Ryan chuckled.

"I forgot my lucky pack." She jiggled the strap on her shoulder. The scrappy thing looked like it was ready to fall apart.

"Oy! Ye need to git rid of that thing already. Seriously!" Grant exclaimed. He held a CB radio–one of his finds from today—and was talking about repairing it.

"Suck my dick, Grant." Ryan said it so sincerely and sweetly that Troy laughed under his breath. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his stubbled jaw.

"Oh, darlin, I been waitin' a long time for ye te ask me to." Grant held his chest. Reed punched him in the shoulder.

Ryan smirked and turned back to Troy. Troy caught the look Reed threw his way. A protective one.

"You have no idea how to get back to your quarters, do you?" She asked.

"I—no." Troy replied. He rubbed his eyes and blinked away drowsiness.

"Come on," she said.

"Ryan," Tuck said firmly. She turned. "Do not toss our newest addition over any of the bridges, please."

There was a hint of joking in his voice. Troy stuffed his hands in his pockets. He still wasn't completely comfortable here, but he felt like he could be. It wasn't impossible.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't dare," she said utterly offended. "He's an original lost boy, this one."

* * *

Troy followed Ryan over multiple bridges. She'd called him a lost boy and he hadn't stopped thinking about it. He was feeling pretty damn lost. Then again being up in the trees like this was very much like the hide out of the lost boys in _Peter Pan_.

"I heard you thought I was a guy," she commented.

Troy followed the swish of her ponytail in the dark. Lanterns lit the way here and there.

"Uh, no." He shook his head, glad she couldn't see the small bit of embarrassment on his face.

She stopped and turned in the middle of a bridge. It swayed in the night breeze. He grabbed the rope railing, shaking nervously. Ryan crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's not the first time it's happened. It never fails to make me laugh though. Always being mistaken. The looks on peoples' faces…" she laughed softly, gaging his reaction.

She turned back around and started walking again. Troy hadn't moved and was still trying to breathe. She had no sense of boundaries.

"We're taking a quick detour," she announced as she stopped at the doorway of one of the mini-dorms. Sophie was relaxing one her cot inside. "Hey."

The tween looked up from whatever magazine she was looking at. The pages were wrinkled, probably from her reading so many times. The cover was gone.

Ryan reached into her pack and pulled out something Troy hadn't seen in a while. A book.

"Got this for you," Ryan said and tossed it. In the soft light of the lanterns, he could read the title. _War and Peace._ Sophie's eyes regarded it with disgust.

"This looks boring," she stated flatly.

"I don't know. It looked good to me. Just give it a try," Ryan said with a nonchalant shrug. The corners of her lips twitched with anticipation.

Sophie rolled her eyes and muttered incoherently under her breath. Opening it, she gasped. Her eyes enlarged to the size of those collector's plates his mom used to have.

"No way!" she squealed. She flung the book down, showing that he center was cut out, and held up a Milkyway. "How did you find this! I figured chocolate would've been a goner by now!"

Sophie bounded off her cot and wrapped her arms around Ryan's waist, squeezing tightly.

"Grant and I hit random store and a hardware store. There were still some good leftovers," she said, hugging her back. After parting, she reached back in and pulled out another book called _Poison Princess_. "Trust me on this one. It's worth it."

"It's looks apocalyptical…"

"Then it's perfect." Ryan winked.

Sophie hurried back to her cot and opened the book, munching away on her candy bar. Ryan turned and brushed past Troy on the way back over the bridge. The entire way was silence and that was fine. He didn't have much to say himself…until their next stop. The room was dark. Ryan felt her way over to an oil lantern. It lit up. Her facial features glowed softly. The lantern lit the entire place. Troy followed her gaze.

"Holy shit," he mumbled low.

He didn't see this room on the mini-tour. This place was a library. Books were strewn everywhere. There were two comfy chairs. Well, not comfy. The cushions were ratty and deflated. They were good enough that you could pretend they were comfy.

Ryan smiled. She set her pack down on a small end table and started pulling out books. She had eight in total.

"You can come here whenever you want. Anybody can. This is about all we have in the way of entertainment," she told him as she put away her treasures.

Truthfully, he wasn't looking at the mass collection, though it was impressive. He was looking at her. She stood on her tippy toes, trying to put one book on a top shelf that was just out of her reach. While it was entertaining to watch her struggle and bite her tongue, he grabbed it from her hand and slid it into place.

"Thanks, tall, dark and tad broody." There was that smile again. What the hell did she have to be happy about?

He nodded.

"Alright. Detour over," she said.

Troy began to follow her when his eyes caught on one title in particular. _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde._ He grabbed it and caught up with Ryan. She was small but fast.

"And here you are," she said, stopping at his door.

"Thanks," Troy said, sheepishly. He was going to have to walk around tomorrow. Get more familiar. "Uh, maybe sometime I can go with you and, uh…"

"Grant?" she supplied.

"Yeah. I can help out, scavenging. Pull some weight maybe."

"Maybe." Her reply was small and wary. "Sleep well."

She made it back halfway across the bridge and then paused. The half-moon up in the sky lit her facial features in pale light. Her lips pressed into a thin line and Troy could see right then the similarity she had to her twin, Reed. They shared the same troubled look.

"I know I barely know you, but some advice? Steer away from Kenny if you can. Don't try to be friends with him. Okay?" Her head canted to the side.

Weren't they together? That's a weird thing to say if they were.

Troy managed a nod and she nodded back then sauntered off into the dark. He looked down at the book he'd plucked from her ever-growing library. He could see the cover just faintly. Both a man and a beast twisted into one face. He sighed and turned in. Tomorrow the real shit began.

* * *

 **Darlings, don't forget to review. It's always an ego booster. Kidding! It does let me know what you think, so tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Always happy to see new readers. Here's a brand new chapter.**

 **Also want to say thank you to those who have favorited, followed and reviewed.**

 **P.S. The obvious: Don't own FTWD, just my originals.**

* * *

Troy woke with a start, breathing heavily. He groaned and reached up to his throbbing head. He paused right before touching it, remembering. Blinking a few times, he worked his breathing down. His chest ached with each inhale. Whatever he'd been dreaming about must've been hell. He couldn't recall much of anything except that he couldn't breathe.

His T-shirt was soaked through and through. So was the back of his neck and up through his muss of unruly hair. He glanced around. The sun glared into the room through the open doorway and the small square that acted as a window. Troy leaned on his knees and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The air was thick. It smelled good—the trees and the sun.

"Sleep well, princess?"

Kenny was standing n the doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest. A cruel smirk just barely pulled at the corner of his lips. Troy knew that look. It was like staring in a mirror.

"The usual," Troy grumbled. Getting up, he padded over to a worn, green trunk where Trick had stuck clothing for him. He pulled off his shirt and pulled on the red one. Two sweatshirts, three pairs of jeans and a flannel were stocked in there. No socks. He slipped his feet into his boots, trying not to imagine who last wore them and if they were dead or not.

He ran his hand over his hair, closing his eyes briefly one more. He focused on stopping his shakiness. The foggy dream really got to him, but he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know why. He just wanted it to stop.

Kenny was saying something, but he wasn't hearing him. He thought about what Ryan said the other night. Try not to be friends with him.

"What?" He turned his head to look at Kenny.

"I was sayin' how about we go gank a few deads?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Awesome. After breakfast." Kenny waggled his eyebrows, just giddy, and stalked off.

It took a little while, but Troy found his way to the pit. Mostly he followed the sweet smell to it. Grant was cooking up fresh meat. Real fresh. A pig was run through with a spit and spun slowly over the pit fire. The pit glowed orange with a medium blue flame.

"She's a beaut, eh?" Grant said, coming over to him. His red hair was even more brighter today than the other day, almost like it really was on fire. He carried a can of beer in one hand. "She's for dinner. Breakfast is always dry. See Lindsey about it."

"Isn't it a little early?" Troy nodded down at the beer can.

"Ha! You're funny. I like ye," Grant laughed. He wandered back to the pit, still laughing.

"Troy. Good to see you," Tuck greeted, smiling warmly. "How are you feeling today?"

Not great. Dizzy. Possibly vomit worthy. His stomach clenched, sucking at the walls for nutrition. He could see his ribs.

"Uh, fine."

"Yeah," Tuck snorted. "My wife used to say that. She wasn't fine."

"My head feels massive," Troy confessed, stifling a dull groan. "Like it might explode."

"Hm. We'll have to see about an inflammatory." Tuck said. Then with a gentle pat on the shoulder they sat down. Breakfast consisted of grits and toast. Reed joined them with Ryan riding piggy back.

Lindsey was telling Troy something, but he'd lost track of what as he spaced out. He blamed his head. Trying to get it on track was hard. Looking around, he saw a lot of smiles. A lot of laughter. Every single one of them had to of lost somebody. Had to of. But, here they were. Living the dream. Fucked up kind of dream. They should be rationing and keeping guard. This wasn't a goddamn party. The world was a fucking mess.

The harsh thought shook him. A shudder worked its way down his arms and back. It was unsettling. This whole thing. What if they were attacked? He licked his lips as his mind raced faster and faster.

"There's no point on dwelling, you know."

Ryan sat behind him on the second bench that went up like a step or better yet, like bleachers do. Her black boots were tied with the strings knotted tightly and tucked inside the ankle. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail with stray tendril and bangs. In black shorts and a dark green tank top with a dark grey denim vest over top, he could see the skin of her chest pucker around a red scar that dipped down between her breasts. He didn't let his gaze linger too long, but couldn't help but wonder about it. She didn't notice his momentary gaze or if she did, she must've been used to it, figuring that people looked at the scar and not her chest, not that it wasn't pleasant, though there wasn't much there. Maybe B size, but that was pushing it.

Troy scratched the corner of his forehead. His main thought had trailed off into dangerous territory and he stopped himself. The point was, she was ready for how hot it was going to get today. He could already smell the heat. It was thick of grass and the trees. It made him heady.

"We've just moved forward. Grieved. Raged. The eight million stages of all that. Then moved forward. No point in dwelling on the past. Just have to adapt. People die. We have no control over it." Her eyes danced upward, looking at the treetops. "If you were wondering about how a bunch of tree people could be so happy in the midst of an apocalypse, that is."

At that, he grinned. He couldn't help it. It was as if she read his mind.

"Oh bless my heart," she said low. "He smiles."

She shook her head and climbed off the bench and out of the pit. He quickly learned that she liked to keep moving, go exploring and searching. She knew everyone, checked in on them. He was pretty sure that as sweet as she could be, she could also be nasty. She had a hard shell and a small tolerance to bullshit.

People began to scatter to the winds to get chores done.

"What are you doing today?" Tuck asked him.

"Kenny and I will be going to ground. Perimeter check as far as I know."

"No, you won't." The grave tone made Troy freeze. Ryan hadn't left yet and neither had Reed. The two shared the same look. It was fear and caution. They walked over, their steps in sync.

"You coming with me today," she said. "I'll take you around to the hospital and maybe a few shops."

"Ry-" Reed started.

"Don't." she snapped. He wilted under her glare, his shoulders sagging. She turned it on Troy, but he didn't cave under authority. He kept his shoulders broad because while he was the newest guest, he wasn't going to let someone bark him…up a tree. "Let's go."

Troy looked at Tuck. Wasn't he the leader here? He just shrugged and ushered him off.

"Just stop and see Trick before you guys leave, would you?" Tuck said. It wasn't a question or a request. It was an order.

"Okay," she replied. Her eyes slid to the side and she looked at Kenny across the way, her nostrils flaring with anger. Then she snapped at Troy. "What are you waiting for? Let's go. I'd like to be back before dinner and we've got miles to go."

Troy stood to follow, but stopped as a wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed. His vision speckled, threatening to go black.

"Whoa, careful." Reed grabbed his arm and steadied him. Ryan was already gone when his vision returned. "Don't take this personal. It's not you. It's Kenny. He has this thing for her and it verges on creepy. Also, when we first started this place, he and I did the perimeter once and she swears…I don't know. Just…look at this as a positive. She's keeping you alive."

"Ah. That's what that is." Sarcasm spilled from his lips before he could stop it. "Not going to lie. I'm only half alive."

"Better than not at all," Reed said with a forced, thin lipped smile. He patted him on the shoulder and pointed in the direction Ryan went.

Troy found her waiting at one of the drops—a flat held by a rope pulley that lowered to the ground. Trick was holding the lever that lowered it. She didn't say anything, but got on. Her gaze was distant.

"I've already packed you guys with multiple painkillers and first aid shit. I also put my special recipe in there just in case," Trick told them.

"Special recipe," Troy dared asked. He had a feeling he already knew, but the way Trick's lips curled up like a mischievous cat's grin confirmed it. Troy smirked. That recipe would probably alleviate some of the throbbing banging against the side of his head.

Ryan didn't even speak to him when Sophie helped get two horses ready. There were five of them and chickens. For some reason, the chickens thrilled him. Their white feathers plumed and they squawked.

"How do the walkers not hear all of them?"

"Oh, well…" Sophie grimaced. "They do. Sometimes it's hard. I usually bring a couple up top just in case. Breeding purposes and all."

She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. Troy was completely mystified by it. She was thinking miles ahead. Instead of killing these little guys off, she was reserving them. She was making sure they never ran out. It was…

"Impressive," he said.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. She handed him the reigns to the black horse.

"It is something," she agreed. Then she nodded off at Ryan who'd gone over to the brown horse with the perfectly placed white diamond between its eyes. She looked back at Troy, her eyes wide with awkwardness directed at him. "You're in trouble."

"I've only been around here a day." His eyebrows pressed inward and upward with confusion.

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Ry has this thing. She likes to keep people alive." She turned and picked up a pink, chipped, plastic bucket filled with what looked like muck and seed. Using the measuring cup floating on the surface, she scooped out bits, plopping them on the ground. The chickens came running and clucking. "It's understandable. She nearly died at the beginning of this whole thing. Reed told me about it once. I'm never ungrateful about whatever she musters to bring home. I'm always most grateful when she makes it home."

Troy turned his head to look at Ryan. She was rubbing her hand up and down along her horse's nose as she whispered to it. _She nearly died? Hm._ The scar on her chest reflected across his mind. Troy bit the inside of his cheek.

"When you get back I'll cut your hair." That snapped his out of his short-lived thought.

"What?" he said quickly. "No. No no."

"Yes. Yes." She hissed out the last yes. "Floppy dogs are cute, but they can't see that well when their hair in hanging in their eyes."

He grimaced. He may have been wobbly, but not enough to let a person half his height get at his head.

"Geez, don't look so sad. I cut almost everybody's hair. Plus, it does grow back."

He half laughed, still not feeling it. Sophie sniffed, tucking her shoulder length hair behind one ear and then rolled her eyes, as if to call him a pansy.

"Whatever. Go get yourself killed. Dinner is at sunset." She turned away from him to feed the rest of the chickens.

Lifting himself up and swinging one leg over the horse was more difficult than he thought. His legs burned and so much strength was gone out of his arms. The muscles spasmed. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the sharp pain to subside.

Ryan had trotted ahead some, causing her pony tail to bounced behind her. A shotgun was strapped to her back. To her thigh, a…short sword? Jesus. _You find anything out here._

"Do I get a weapon to defend myself with or do I depend on the fair maiden," he quipped after a half an hour of riding in silence.

Without a word, she pulled out a blade—a bowie knife longer than her forearm—and handed it to him. There was no hesitation.

"You don't worry I'll kill you?" his eyes narrowed. It was a thought. An extremely distant thought, but one none the less. The bossier she was, the more it poked around.

"You won't," she said.

"Won't I?"

She pulled on the reigns, stopping the horse. He nickered and blew through is nostrils.

"You're still healing. If—IF—you were going to kill me, it would be after you've recovered. No sense in killing the people feeding you and keeping you healthy right this second," she replied with complete calm.

Troy tucked the knife in his own saddle bag. And whipped the reigns lightly, getting the horse going once more. There was no direct path except for what Ryan knew and her ears were on alert constantly.

"We don't live too far from New Orleans. Every once in a while we trip through the outskirts. There are also the farms and other little stops. A lot of them are ransacked, but then there are the hidden nooks and crannies," she said after another long bout of silence.

Troy didn't respond. He glanced around. There wasn't a walker anywhere in sight. It was strange. Ryan caught his eye and said,

"They like to stick to the city. Don't know why. Guess they don't like to be lonely."

* * *

Making it to an actual road, it wasn't long before a truck stop came into view. It wasn't one of those small stop-and-gos. It had an attached restaurant and mini shop. Like Ryan said, most of it had been ransacked.

Before seeing if there was anything to find, they swept through the place for walkers. Troy remained tense and alert. He'd brought the knife with him and Ryan had already unsheathed her medieval weapon. He would've laughed if it didn't seem like such a good weapon. Probably real fucking sharp.

After an initial sweep, they'd only come across four walkers. One of them had been stuck in the bathroom, in a stall. _Better than a herd._ The thought made Troy squeeze his eyes shut. An image flashed through his mind and then another, but he couldn't place the meaning of them. A hoard was creeping its way across dryland. Real dry. Not a drop of green. Couldn't have been far from the Ranch. And he sat there in a lawn chair up on a high rise, watching them go, like it was the best fucking show on earth.

A shudder ripped through him and he paled.

"You okay?" Ryan touched his arm, trying to catch his eye. "You're phasing out a bit. Maybe it was a bad idea putting you in so early. You did only wake up a few weeks ago."

"No, I'm fine." Troy spoke hoarsely and then swallowed hard, making his Adam's apple bob.

He rubbed the back of his neck. A bead of sweat slid down his cheek. He'd already taken a couple of the pills that Trick had sent with them. He couldn't take any more for a few hours, not unless he wanted to knock out for a while.

She wandered up and down the aisles. The store reeks of old food and sour milk that had churned to rust colored lumps in the freezers. Shelves were verging on empty.

"So, what's your story?" Ryan asked, peeking over the shelf at him

"Long," Troy replied, and as an afterthought, "I can't remember much. It was dark a lot."

"Hm." She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "Dark."

She wrinkled her nose. He paused and rested his arms on the top shelf and leaned.

"I have this feeling," he started, refusing to look at her. Somehow, even though she was smaller than him in height and build, she was intimidating. "If I don't ever recall it, it'll be for the best. For everyone. Something's not right."

His head nodded to the side of his head wound.

"Whoever did that—" Ryan started.

"Had their reasons." He cut her off. "I don't think I want to remember that either. There's these shadows of feelings. Like a nudge. A clenching. I wasn't a good person."

He pushed away from the shelf he leaned on. There were shadows that lurked around him, the metaphorical ones, and he was struggling to decipher the dreams from memories. He didn't want to. He wanted let it all stay hidden and locked and gone.

"Whatever you say, Jack," she smirked and wandered off toward the next mini shop. This abandoned place really was a piece of shit. A hubcap skidded across the hall, scraping along the linoleum.

The hairs on Troy's arms prickled. Slow and cautious he followed the noise, wondering if Ryan had kicked it out of boredom or something else. Something else.

Peeking in through the doorway, he leapt into action. A walker, it's jaw unhinged and snapping, covered Ryan. Her foot on its chest was the only thing keeping it from biting her. It's left eye dangled from its socket. Brandishing the knife, he shoved the sharp tip right up the base of its skull. Ryan lay there on the ground, breathing hard.

"Huh. Forgot one, I guess," she said.

Troy shook his head, watching it, wondering if it would come back. And for some reason, he counted. But why? Thing was dead. Troy wrinkled his nose. And it was oozing all over the floor.

Only after scourging a few pots and random clothing—a thick jacket, a long sleeve shirt, and socks—Troy was ready to head back.

"You know," she started, "I found throwing stars once. Still have them. Fast little things and a hell of an impact if you throw it hard enough. It's just like in the movies. Though, with how fleshy these ugly ass things get, it's no wonder it's easy to cut through them. I lost one in a walker's head once. I did not go digging for it. Disgusting."

She patted to one of the saddle bags after she packed it. Troy chuckled at the face she made, remembering it. At least she was able to protect herself. Even back at the truck stop, she would've gotten the walker if he'd given her a minute. He didn't need to worry about that. No, what he was worried about was himself. A strange feeling seized him. There'd been no hesitation when he rammed that thing with his knife. Not a worry. Not a care. It actually felt…good. Relieving.

"So," Troy started. He was too curious not to ask. "Sophie says you were dying? As all of this went down."

Ryan burst out laughing, throwing her head back. What was the joke? After getting hammered—no joke…well, a small joke—Troy didn't understand.

"I laugh every time she tells the story. It's like she wished she would've been there." Ryan sighed. Her eyes changed with something resembling sadness. Her hand touched her chest. "I wish she'd quit with it. I wish I hadn't even been there."

"Where?" Troy strode up next to her now.

The sudden distant look in her eyes was blinked away and she scowled at him playfully.

"Okay…" she said knowingly. "I see. You're trying to weasel stuff out of me. You know what? When we become friends then maybe I'll tell you about my end of the world experience. Until then, you just go on and be everyone's little helper. Figure out where you need to be. Who knows, you could be just passing through."

 _Little helper?_ Was she out of her mind? He didn't pick up other people's shit. That he knew for sure. People could carry their own weight. Where did he need to be, though? That was a good question. He could pack up and head back to the Ranch, though did he want to. He did grab a couple maps from the magazine stand. One of the country and one of New Orleans. If there was anything worth having it would be there, maybe even in the French quarter. Washing up on a broken river shore, he wasn't sure if there was anything left of the Ranch. If it was worth going back. The place was in the middle of a desert. This place was greener than anything he'd ever seen. The twisting in his gut whenever he thought about the place didn't help. It was like a nagging. One that said he really shouldn't go back.

Troy set aside the debate with himself for later.

"Little helper…ha. No," he said finally.

"No?" Ryan's eyebrows piqued up.

"I'm alright with this. I need to get out. I'm too cramped up in that…place."

"Careful what you ask for," she sang. "My brother could really use some help from somebody like you. It's not easy managing the upkeep of the place."

Reed, her brother, was the one worked on keeping everybody up there in the trees. Ryan told Troy about how he would fix lose boards, replace rotting ones, find a way to strengthen the place. He was even expanding it, too. She mentioned that he'd gotten some sort of degree with it.

"Fine," he replied.

They arrived back at the Canopy—what Ryan called it—as the sun fell into the tree tops. Sophie wasn't around and the chickens were locked up in their coop, which was nothing more than a shed.

Looking up, he couldn't see anyone to drop the flat.

"This way, Jack," Ryan said. She looked at him over her shoulder, completely amused. That was the second time she'd called him that. She was enjoying him being completely lost. She'd shoved most of everything they got into her lucky pack, and dangled anything that wouldn't fit.

Moving under the Top, Ryan searched and then stopped.

"Give me a boost," she said, pointing up at a branch nearly twice her height.

Without a word, Troy clasped his hands together for her to step her boot up. Even with her pack, she was light. Ever so carefully, she hoisted herself up onto the thick branch and sat there.

"Let's go," she said.

Fuck. Getting up on the damn horse was a feat in itself. This was going to be hell. Using a knot bulging from the massive trunk of the tree, he lifted himself up onto the branch next to her. She positioned herself with ease and moved upward.

Walkers weren't climbers. They were more fallers and rollers and dumb. They could swarm it they wanted, but they weren't getting up there.

The climb was grueling. They came up on the deck of the fire pit. People were gathering plates for dinner, talking and relaxing. Nobody paid much mind. Leaving him to lie there on his back and out of breath, Ryan wandered off to where Tuck and her brother stood.

"Ye lived. I thought for sure ye'd be dead, friend. Glad ye ain't. That's for sure." Grant braced his knees, bent over and staring at Troy. His breath reeked of alcohol. Where the hell did he find it? Grant held out his hand to him. "Come on, lad. Let's get you some food."

Troy took his hand and let him pull him up to his feet. As they made their way over to pig on the spit. Meat had been peeled off already.

"It's a good sign ye back. That little truck stop is Ryan's test to see if newcomers stay."

Troy's eyebrow knitted together. That entire day trip was a test?

"She likes to make sure about people. Make sure they ain't the killin' type, ye know?"

Troy glanced over at Tuck and the twins. Ryan's back was to him as she spoke. Her hands were relaxed on her hips. Strands of hair from her ponytail stuck to the back of her neck. As if sensing it, she turned, looking over her shoulder, meeting his icy gaze. Feeling pissed was an understatement. The side of his head ached. So did his arms. He could sleep for a week.

Troy nodded stiffly. The killing type. His gut churned again. It was because he was hungry. That was it. That's what he told himself.

Ryan's gaze wasn't all that friendly either. This whole time, talking to him like he was welcome, she was making her observations, figuring out who he was, if he was dangerous.

"It's a good thing, lad," Grant said, handing him a brown bottle. The label was ripped off, but the taste was the same one he'd always known and it was good. "She like ye and that goes a long way. Tuck takes those kids' advisements very seriously. They got themselves a good head and Tuck values that."

Troy still said nothing, but he looked away from Ryan and into the flames of the pit. Grant kept talking and Sophie sat on Troy's other side. His gaze didn't stray once as he ate. He didn't speak either. He could barely hear them as they talked because of the rush of blood in his head. It was loud and thumping painfully.

He did pull out of the stupor at seeing Kenny across the pit. A cold look filled his eyes. He was dangerous. Troy didn't look away. Whatever contest this asshole was looking for, he would lose. Troy's jaw clenched and molars grinded.

"I'm off to bed," Troy said. He bumped his knee with Sophie's in a bid farewell. She beamed up at him. It made him falter for a moment. Nobody had looked at him like that before. Like he was somebody to look up to, and not just because he was taller than most people.

* * *

Though completely exhausted, Troy didn't go to sleep. His head throbbed more agonizingly tonight than it did earlier today. Under a faint lantern light, he opened _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and began reading.

"You can't be upset, you know? I didn't even know she was planning that today. I won't disagree with her about it though. It wasn't a bad idea. She does it to most newcomers, especially ones that wander in in mysterious ways. It's an easy way to see where their instincts lie."

Troy looked up. Reed stood in the doorway. None of the places had doors. Troy had heard many things.

"I'm not." Troy replied honestly, though his words were clipped. How would he handle some random person walking in here? The strive to survive could make a person do crazy things. He just disliked that it had been done to him. how could he trust them?

"You are. But, get this," Reed said. Troy looked up from the book as Reed sat on the end of the cot. "You washed up here. Your memory is a fragmented piece of shit. We don't know what to expect if it returns. You get it? So yeah, we got tests. Nobody here dislikes you. Except Kenny, but he's a dick, so he don't count. Trick thinks you're some kind of god the way you ended up here and after all he's been through that's high praise. Just don't let it get to you," he finished. "It ain't worth it. Everything will work out if we've got nothing to worry about."

Reed eyed the book in Troy's hand.

"My sis got you into the library, eh? She's so damn obsessed with it. Can't blame her though. Who knew we'd be thrown back to the dark ages." Reed chuckled heartily.

"What would it take to be a scavenger? Ryan avoided it when I brought it up."

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" Reed looked at him incredulously.

"I'm grateful to be here, but I need to get out." Troy said, avoiding eye contact.

"For right now, today is the only day. You gotta be able to keep up and hold your own weight. See, Grant is a hard hitter. He's taken out three walkers at a time. Ryan is fast and agile. She can fit in small spaces. They've got it. You? You're a ways off. Help me out with this place for a while and we'll see."

Troy pursed his lips. Not what he wanted to hear. A scratching sound came from outside. Came from the ground. It was followed by a raspy sound. It was a walker.

Troy sat forward. Was there more than one? Were they going to need to move out?

"Hey," Reed drew back his attention. "Don't worry about it. We got watchers. Teams of seven. Three shifts. Ain't no one or nothing getting up here."

Troy nodded.

"Get some rest. Yeah? A new day tomorrow." Reed exited the room, his boots clomping across the bridge.

Troy rubbed his forehead. How long until this dulling ache didn't want to make him blow his head out? Sighing, he set the book down and stepped out on to the balcony. The thing wrapped around to the trunk. Looking out at the night sky, he decided this was better than the Ranch. It was open. There were no places to get locked up. Not that he saw anyway. He wasn't going to try to go back. What would be the point? It's not like Dad or Jake was looking for him anyway. Considered rotten, they wouldn't. Here was a good place. Or it could be.

For some reason, he fought each of these thoughts as they pressed against his memory, and he couldn't place why. A nasty swirl occurred in his stomach. Leaning over the wooden railing, he vomited and his head twisted even more. There was disgusting, faint splat on the ground below.

"Eeesh. Gross."

Using the sleeve of his shirt, Troy wiped his mouth.

"Now, I know that wasn't from the food. We take care to make sure it's cooked. And Grant butchered that pig last night. So…" Ryan trailed off.

Her hair had been relieved of its pony tail and fell in waves around her shoulders, touching her waist.

"I'm fine."

"Is it your head?"

He closed his eyes. They wanted to trust him. He bit back bile and the urge to snap. His jaw went taut. Trust. He needed to.

He nodded.

"I'm having trouble. My thoughts…" he took in a deep breath.

"If you want to talk—"

"No. I don't."

Her eyes widened and then she scoffed, grimacing.

"Okay…Well, when is the last time you took something?"

"What, are you going to take care of me? Huh?" Troy's voice escalated. He stood upright and turned, encroaching in on her. First, she played him, made him think he could do something around here and now she wanted to coddle him? "Would it make you feel better? Feel warm at night? I don't need you."

Ryan back stepped, breathing nervously, swallowing nervously. The tension in the air was uneasy. Troy's eyes narrowed and he smirked.

"Take it easy. There were reasons. It's not like you were in any danger."

"But neither were you. Just playing around. See, out there-" Troy pointed out at the darkness. "-it's not a goddamned playground. It's life or death. You wanted to kill me…"

"What? No!" Ryan hissed. He saw her arms tense and imagined her heart pounding in her chest. "Why would we work so hard to revive you only to kill you?"

"Some sick game."

"Troy, you're not well. You should lie down." She touched his arm to try and guide back into his room.

His knife, still at his side, was unsheathed and he held the grip tight. Slitting her throat would be so easy. Ryan eyed the gleaming blade. He swore he could see her pulse throbbing.

"Don't make a dumb mistake just because you don't like what I did. You're not feeling well," she said, but didn't back away.

Troy's eyes lingered over her. With the tip of the blade, he skimmed over the length of the scar that pinched the skin down the center of her chest and stopped when it disappeared beneath her tank top. He couldn't help wondering how far down it went. Certainly between her breasts, that, though they weren't very present, still moved in the slightest with each breath.

"I wonder how you came upon this," he wondered. He canted his head.

She swatted the blade away, getting herself nicked near her collar bone. A droplet of blood slid down her skin and Troy skittered out a breath. He shook his head. Where the hell did that come from? He'd never felt so out of control, so angry. It was ridiculous. His head really was fucked up.

That terrified him.

"I-I'm sorry." Flipping the knife in his hand, he held it out to her.

Hesitantly, she took it.

"Something's wrong with me," he whispered low.

He retreated back to his room. The bridge swung and clanked with footfalls as he heard her run off. Now he was done. Now he was thrown away. Big surprise.

Sitting on the cot, he leaned back. The room creaked as the nightly breeze swept through the room. He closed his eyes.

He started suddenly at a creaking sound. Ryan stood next him. She'd come back, but was still pale with fear. She was brave.

"Take these." Ryan held out her hand. Two capsules were in her palm. Not even asking, Troy swallowed both of them dry. If it was poison, then maybe it'd be good.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You weren't kidding when you said you thought you weren't a good person," she said. Her voice had lost emotion.

Troy shook his head. Ryan scratched her nose. He wondered what she was thinking with such an intense gaze.

"Hm. Come here," she said.

"What?" He gave her a confused look.

She pointed down at the spot in front of her.

"Come here." She reached behind and pulled something from her back pocket. Metal glinted and she pulled handles apart. Scissors. He remembered Sophie mentioning a haircut today.

Troy stood uneasily and she craned her head back with a look of regret.

"Okay, never mind. Sit. You're a freaking tree."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be," she replied. She ran her fingers through his hair, judging the lengths. Then leaning down to his ear, she muttered, "Girls like to climb trees."

She paused.

"And guys…" Her eyes darted away…with slight disappointment?

Troy chuckled. She moved onto something new quickly.

"I overheard Sophie say she wanted to cut your hair. She'd bug you about it until you cave, but it's a good idea. And who knows, could do you some good," she said. She turned the lamp light up, brightening the room enough to see.

She snipped the curly lengths, giving a close cut, but not a complete buzz. The process was quiet. Troy watched her face as she worked. She concentrated hard, turning his head side to side here and there. She was careful around his temple, holding her breath at that part. And at times, Troy closed his eyes as she ran her small fingers through his hair. He resisted leaning into it. She touched him so softly, with no timidity like he expected. He hadn't felt that in a long time from anyone, not even before all of this.

With each cut, each minute, he could feel all of that strange anger fading away. He still couldn't figure out where it came from, but it was gone. He could breathe a little easier.

He noted the cut he'd made on her. He wouldn't do that again. Not if he wanted this to work. This was his decision. He didn't want to be out there on his own. He wouldn't make it. So, he would stay.

"There you go," she said, feeling accomplished.

She stepped back. Troy felt lighter.

"Hmm?" She inquired his thoughts. There weren't any mirrors, but as he felt through hair, it felt good. Relieving. The sides were shorter, and the top, too, but not as much. His hair still curled there. He could run his hand through it comfortably. The air on the back of his neck was nice. Sent a chill through him.

"Good." She tucked the scissors back in her back pocket. "Get some rest. You need it."

At that, he lay back, tucking his arm under his head.

"And Troy?" He tilted his chin to see that she was still standing in the doorway. "If you need to talk, I'm here. No matter how crazy."

She blew out the lantern's flame and walked out. Troy sighed. Talking. That's what he was afraid to do. What if he talked about these dream-possibly memories? How did he convey that he felt completely threatened and challenged to the point that his chest pained and he puked? It was all crazy. He was crazy.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**Brand new chapter, loves.**

 **Disclaimer: We all know I own nothing but the characters I created, so just start reading. Lol.**

* * *

Chapter 3

"Morning, dude. Nice look," Trick greeted, coming over to the balcony. "Ry told me you weren't feeling so hot last night. How you doin'?"

Troy squinted. The morning sun was bright and already hot. He ran his hand through is hair. It was lighter. Better, like shedding snake skin. He could almost feel new.

"Head is better," he replied. And it was. It didn't ache as much. The throb had dissipated to a pulse.

"Awesome. Let's look." Trick held up a worn leather bag. His medical supplies.

Troy followed him and sat down on the cot while dragged the chair over. Trick took the bandaging carefully, peeled it back, and then whistled. The air on his temple was cool for a second.

"It's healing nicely. The hole won't even be that deep. Like maybe an in or even less, which is majorly impressive. The down side is this bit of your skull won't heal. Bone doesn't work the way muscle does, so when it heals it'll be a weak spot. Maybe even a little sensitive because it'll just be tissue. But hey, at least your brain isn't oozing out," Trick finished positively.

At least his brain wasn't oozing. But maybe it was, just not physically.

"Ah, wondered if you two were here." Reed filled the doorway. He pointed at Troy. "You're with me today. I've got grunt work and need your help. Kenny and a few others are going with."

"Okay." Troy thought about what Ryan had said. Distracting himself sounded good. He needed to do something. Anything.

"Great. We leave in fifteen." Reed's head canted to one side, catching a glimpse of the hole in his head. "That's disgusting."

"You kidding? It's totally gnarly," Trick argued. He flung his blonde hair from his face. "Totally badass. Can't imagine anybody surviving something this brutal."

"Whatever," Reed laughed and left. Trick cleaned, applied, and bandaged. Then he was gone, too.

Troy glanced around the Canopy before going to ground. Ryan wasn't anywhere.

It was like that for the next few weeks. What he did see of her was a flash here and there. She didn't tell anyone about what went on between them and while a part of him didn't give a shit whether she did or not, another part of him was glad. He didn't want to be murdered in his sleep by her brother…not that Reed would succeed.

Troy didn't need to go off again. Didn't want to. He remembered it clearly. The sudden irrational anger had been unbidden. He didn't want to feel that again, especially since he was pretty sure that and something even darker and more unsettling is what landed him here. He had to let go.

The grunt work proved good. He was getting his strength back. He began a routine in the morning before going to the pit. Two sets of sit-ups followed by two sets of push-ups. Fifty each until he worked up higher, which he did. It gave him something to focus on.

There were twenty-one people in all up here in the Canopy. Some he still didn't know, but he was getting it.

"You're getting good, man. Fitting right in these days," Kenny commented on the way back to the Canopy.

Troy held the reigns of one of the horses, guiding it as it helped drag the sled that was stocked with wood. Reed was refurnishing in some areas. Up ahead, Reed and Lindsey were on guard. Their automatic weapons were tight to their sides. Troy didn't know how many bullets they had. He couldn't figure very many.

"Trying," Troy mumbled, lost in a thought he couldn't quite place. Then again, maybe it was just the hazy heat.

"Up ahead," Reed said aloud to them.

Troy lifted his head. A group of walkers—a headcount of eight—groaned, stumbling over their own feet toward them. Some more trailed behind them about thirty feet back. He wasn't nervous or worried. It was a feeling he could place where he go it from.

"And I thought it was going to be a dull day," Kenny said with a low, slimy chuckle.

Reed rolled his eyes, though he wanted to laugh, too. Troy was thrown off by how lax they all were, except for Reed. He had his eyes trained on the walkers. But to the others, it was just fun.

Troy said nothing. Brandishing his knife, he stopped his horse, rubbing his hand over its nose and then moved in to help Reed and Lindsey. With three already down, Troy jammed the knife into the side of a walker coming up on Lindsey's side. The knife went in at an angle and he shoved the rotting thing to the ground, not hesitating to swing his arm around on the next one incoming.

The engagement was a blur. He moved around the group, wiping out the dead. Each kill was better than the last. It felt good—an incredible rush—which couldn't be right. How was killing the rotting remnants of people good? Sure, they weren't people anymore. They were only shells, but that didn't matter, did it? He knew instantly that it did. These walking corpses once mattered. Why couldn't he get himself to understand that? Why was it that they were suddenly more disposable than trash? Oh, right. Survival. Kill or be killed. Wasn't it like that before all of this, to a certain extent?

It was disgusting. Troy only wished it could be stopped—this disease. Fix it, and people stop dying. Stop turning into these ugly ass rotters. The thought was there then gone, just like a dissipating wisp of a cloud, like a memory run away. Dead was dead. It should stay that way. Fixing death was impossible as was preventing it.

A walker groaned into a hiss. Its black teeth snapped at him. His arm would've taken a bite had Reed not got to it first.

"Aye, not a single shot fired," Kenny said with a boastful laugh.

Troy looked down at his hands, still thinking about it, wondering why any of this mattered. He wasn't surviving for anyone. The emptiness he could feel in his gut was proof enough of that. The fluid all over them was dark red nearly black. Bits of greyish skin were dug up under his nails. He put the knife away and went back to the horse, taking its reins.

It mattered because it mattered to other people. Because these wandering, mindless sacks of rotting meat had been alive once and had been loved by someone. They'd had lives before all of this. Now, they wandered with no purpose, and with a hunger that would never be satiated. In a way, that didn't make them much different from any person that was still alive. What a fucked up world.

They resumed their path. A headache grew in Troy's head.

None of them made any mention of picking the corpses up or burning them. Let the sun cooked them.

"What do you miss most from before all of this?" Kenny asked. It was an open question.

"I miss music," Reed commented. "Oh man, do I. I used to go to this bar to play on the weekends down in the Quarter."

"Yes…" Lindsey said with a groan. "I miss Chinese take-out. A. Lot. A. Shit. Ton."

She and him laughed.

Troy could recall, faintly, the last time he heard music. Whatever passed for it anyway. It had been found at some base that he and other guys at the Ranch secured. To compare it, it could match against the raging headaches got on and off, just like now.

"I miss my Ma," Kenny said.

Troy's grip on the reigns tightened.

"How 'bout you?" Kenny nodded in his direction.

Troy shook his head.

"Aw, come on! Gotta be one thing. Food? People? Sex? Something, man," Kenny pressed

"Ask me about the things I don't miss sometime," Troy mumbled.

Reed's fun expression and curiosity died. Lindsey didn't meet his gaze.

"Bad life, eh?"

"Sort of."

"Ah, well, can't get worse than what it is now." Kenny laughed.

Only he laughed. The moron.

Once back at the Canopy, Troy helped Reed shave the bark from the wood they'd gathered. Some of it would be hauled up as firewood.

"Kenny's a prick," Reed muttered. "I hate that he stuck around."

Troy didn't say anything, but agreed. Kenny was the kind of person that would get dangerously close to being a hostile. What was worse is Troy understood what that felt like; to simmer close to the surface of intimidation like that. The whole demeanor was a power tactic. A way of showing off. Show who has more balls. That was dangerous because he also didn't care what happened to anybody else, though he claimed he did. He only valued what happened to himself.

"And we'll get this put up tomorrow," Reed said after they finished.

"Sounds good." Sounded great. Troy was exhausted.

The walker population still drifted out from the city. They'd been lucky not to attract hordes. Teams moved with stationary weapons to weed them out. Some walkers wandered right on through the Canopy without a pause. Must've not been worth the trouble. The Canopy was a pretty solid place. With the chickens and horses taken care of in a pen that Reed had constructed with Tuck, they couldn't get to them. And the Canopy wasn't a raging party every day and night. Lights were kept on low at night to avoid too much attention. The pit was the only exception.

Ryan and Grant trotted in on their horses right as the two men were stepping on the flat. Kenny and Lindsey had already gone up.

"Hey," Ryan greeted. "Good day?"

"It was," Reed said. He slung an arm over her shoulders as they got on the flat.

"I ned a drink," Grant said.

Once at the top, Troy wandered to the library. Sophie was already there, scanning over the uneven spines.

"Hiya! Need something new?" She peeked up over the book in her hands.

"Just looking," he replied.

"Ah. You should get out before you go stir crazy," Sophie said as she went back to her search.

"Uhhh…"

"I mean it. You look like you're going mad. Tell somebody you're going on an adventure for a few days and then go," she said. "You look well enough. Get some fresh air."

Troy bit his bottom lip. He'd been planning a trip for the last week. He wanted to go into the city to look around. He'd been going over the map he'd retrieved from the truck stop, his test. After helping Reed, he was planning on going.

Sophie got up and pulled two more books from a shelf, and then wandered out past him. She was bouncy for a kid. He knew Ryan was responsible for that. Her and nearly every other person. They didn't allow each other to be afraid constantly.

Troy sat down in one of the chairs and let his head fall back. His eyes slid closed. It would only be for a moment. His head spun in the darkness behind his eyelids. He let out a sigh.

"You find anything good?"

His eyes shot open. Tiredly, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Ryan smiled over her shoulder at him as she perused. He mustered a sleepy one in return.

"I was thinking about that one by Neil Gaiman," he said.

"Ah. One of my favorites. Any guy named Shadow is most definitely interesting," she said. "You holding up okay?"

"M'hm."

"How are your dreams?" Her gaze was soft, but imploring.

"They're there. I was walking across a rocky desert bare foot last night. Me and other people. Some people I knew. Others, I couldn't see their faces. They were gone," he said.

"Another memory."

He nodded.

"I'm sure of it. I've got light scarring on my feet," he confirmed.

"Past is the past." He expected her to shrug but she didn't, so he continued.

"I yelled at them. Then I nearly killed someone…I can't remember who."

Ryan came to stand next to him as he spoke. Her hand rested on top of the chair.

"But did you?"

"What?" he looked up at her.

"Kill that person?"

"I don't know." His forehead creased with stress.

"And this?" She ran her fingers softly over his temple. The ruined one. Troy breathed in sharply as the feathery touch pained the spot.

"Better. Sensitive."

She nodded. Her finger lingered at his hairline. Her nails weren't sharp, but still grazed the spot. It sent a strange sensation through him. She dropped her hand.

"You're nearly good to go."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't hurt anybody. You 're almost fully healed up."

"Yeah?"

"You're leaving, right? No sense in staying? Probably want to find that ranch." She moved away, opening her lucky sack that she left by the door.

Was that the real reason why she was avoiding him? Maybe?

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. But, if these hellish nightmares have told me anything, it's that I am never going back. There's nothing there for me. Well, except maybe death."

Ryan stopped rifling, the ridges of her spine stiffening and her chest expanding to let out a long breath. Relief?

"So…" She across the room to fill an empty spot on a shelf with new finds.

"I'm not going anywhere. Well, if none of you have a problem with it of course. I don't know how you all decide about that."

"Tuck has already said you get to keep your room. Sophie's extremely attached, like you're her puppy. And don't tell her I told you, but she's incubating an egg right now just for you. In a matter of weeks, you'll have your own chicken courtesy of a thirteen-year-old girl." Ryan laughed. "You've really whipped her out of her whiney/moody stage."

Troy's eye caught the book she put up on the shelf next. A memoir about a soldier. The cover bore a soldier in full gear with the pattern of the America flag behind him He frowned, his brow pressing in.

Dinner was alligator with boiled potatoes on the side. Grant and Ryan had found a field overgrown with them. The meat was tough, but surprisingly good. Grant wanted the skin. He was determined to make gator boots. Kenny wanted the teeth. Troy just wanted to fill his stomach.

"You've stopped talking."

Ryan sat next to him with her plate. Unlike some of the others, she didn't use a fork with her meat potatoes. She shoveled a sliver of alligator into her mouth. Troy watched her whole frame sag from

"I'm trying," he muttered. "It's difficult, getting reminded of your alter-ego. It's like he's a completely different person, but he stole my face and my body, and I was there for the horrible ride."

"Stop thinking about it. Just stop."

"I'm trying," he repeated.

"It was a different time. People do things when they're desperate. Crazy things. You thought you were helping people."

"I was controlling them…And I think I was killing them when they didn't listen." He looked at her now, hardened icy eyes meeting her dark, nearly black ones.

"Do you want to control people here? Hurt them?" She asked.

"Sometimes."

She'd asked him time and time again to be honest. Didn't get much more truthful than that.

"I think you're helping me though."

She looked down at her lap. Troy noticed that their knees nearly touched, they sat so close. The cut he'd put on her chest was gone. There was no scar, but he could still see the spot so clearly and a pang of guilt made his heart thud hard.

She was helping. No, she might not have noticed, but he did. When he thought about the conversations they did have, there was a lull. She didn't turn him away. Didn't look at him with any shame. None of them did. She certainly didn't try hitting him. He startled awake at night from those kinds of dreams. Most people missed their parents. He only missed his brother. Mother and father being gone was relieving.

"Good," she said at last.

He smiled inwardly.

"How is it you were named Ryan?"

Ryan snorted, rolling her eyes. This wasn't the first time she was asked that question. She swallowed her food and started to tell him. Like that, the tense moment between them, filled with a feeling he couldn't put a finger on, was gone.

"My mom and dad thought for sure that they were getting twin boys. The doctor told them a dozen times that was the case. They picked out the names and the nursery colors-traditional blue. And then poof. Reed came out first and then me. Mom didn't bother changing the names. She said I looked like a Ryan," she told him. "And I have no idea what that means?"

They both laughed and it felt good. Really good. In this ugly ass world, it felt good. This small part of the world felt like an Eden and Troy knew he was lucky to be in it. It didn't matter how long it lasted.

"I hear laughter." Reed sat behind them.

"Laughing about my name all over again," Ryan explained.

"Ah, yeah. Then there's when Troy, here, thought you were a guy." Reed winked with a smug grin.

"Eat me," Troy spat, shaking his head. "I hadn't ever seen her before."

"You do allude to me as being like a guy," Ryan said, feigning a frown.

"Yeah, that's because I've heard you snore. You attract walkers and then scare them off."

"Dick." She called him.

"Hey," Troy cut in, looking back at Reed. "How long do you think it'll take to get the refurnishing and the new rooms done?"

"Probably won't actually get much done until we get more supplies. Running low on nails, need a new hammer and saws…" Reed trailed off in thought and began counting on his fingers to himself.

Ryan gave Troy a strange look, skeptical and asking.

"I'm going to head out on a scavenge next week. That enough time?" Troy asked. He didn't acknowledge her, but he felt her eyes drilling into him.

"Uh, yeah. Grant and Ry are heading back out tomorrow. Kenny is going with so they should be able to bring back more than usual, depending on if they find anything."

"That hardware store we raided last month is still chock full of miscellaneous shit," Ryan said, still staring at Troy. She set her food aside.

"So, what are you thinking? Something specific that you're looking for, that you need?" Reed asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"When a person wants to head out we send them in teams. A buddy system in a sense," Reed said.

"I can go by myself," Troy said.

Reed chuckled like it was a joke.

"With the way you handled yourself today, I don't doubt it."

"Where is it you're going? You don't make it sound like it's just some exploratory trip," Ryan said.

"The city."

Ryan scowled. She knew he was up to something and didn't like that he was hiding it. Reed whistled.

"That's not a one day trip."

"I'll go with him," Ryan said, firmly.

"What? No. That's not necessary," Troy said immediately.

"We grew up in New Orleans. Whatever you're looking for, she can help you find," Reed said.

"I know where I'm going. Honestly. You don't need to tag along," Troy told her.

This seemed to make her angrier.

"It's not a big deal. I'm going."

"Fine." Troy smirked. "Just try not to stick me with that pointy stick of yours."

Reed snorted and choked back on laughter. Ryan rolled her eyes, not taking the bait. Troy couldn't place where this anger came from. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd thrown it in his direction. The woman had sensitive buttons.

"If I ever do that, you'll deserve it," she said before walking off.

Troy grimaced and shook his head.

"What are you thinking?" Reed asked after a couple of minutes.

Troy shook his head.

"It's not important."

Those were words he never expected to utter. Months and months ago, anything he did would be because of how important it was to his and other peoples' survival. Right now, he wasn't concerned. They were doing okay. Had been before he arrived and would be after he was gone.

"You sure? Orleans is festering with walkers just like every other major city probably is. You go in there you better realize you might not come out, and my sister is going in there with you now."

"Nothing'll happen to her," Troy assured him. He was already thinking about hog-tying her before leaving so she couldn't follow.

"Oh, I know. It doesn't stop me from worrying about her though. She's got this… _thing_ …" Reed shook his head. "Never mind."

Troy knew about _things_. He had his own _thing_ that was being an issue, screwing with his head. Ryan screwing with his head on top of it was enough to make his head explode.

"Don't worry about her. Everybody has their problems." Reed patted him on the shoulder.

"Showers," Troy said right then.

"Huh?" Reed's face contorted with confusion.

"Answering that question, what do I miss? Showers. Blistering hot water. The lake is really fucking cold in the morning," Troy replied.

"That's for sure," Reed agreed, grinning. "I could skin a cat for a nice hot shower."

Reed closed his eyes, imagining it for a brief second.

That evening, Troy went over the map again by the dim lamplight. He'd gotten a pen from Tuck. There were only two in the whole place, so he took care not to lose it. At the moment, it was tucked behind his ear as he traced over the routes he wrote down. Each one started from here. He pressed his finger on the starred destination. It was nearly in the center of the city. He knew for a fact that getting past the walkers would be difficult, but not impossible.

Troy took a break from trying to memorize it and from his memories. They were coming back more and more and the guilt was drowning him. He didn't tell anyone. Most of them were still blurry, but he was getting the gist and it made him feel a mixture of things.

But, being away from the Ranch was strange; his mind felt surprisingly clear, though a part of him felt like he should go back. That it was expected of him to return. It would surprise the hell out of Jake to know he was still alive.

His head throbbed. He touched the side of his head, the bad side. The skin was healing over nicely. It was touchy like a nasty, squishy bruise, but soon enough he wouldn't need to worry about keeping it covered. He was afraid to touch it too much, thinking that somehow his fingers would sink in and he'd touch his brain. It was a disgusting picture to imagine.

The night air was stuffy. Stars speckled the sky. The leaves rustled. From here, Troy could see two of the people on duty. Lindsey was one of them. She had a sniper rifle resting on her back.

Not long after the two disappeared off to the other side, Troy heard harsh whispering. Two forms could be seen, though he could barely make them out in the dark, he knew who they were. He kept quiet, listening in.

"-he's dangerous. Why you hang around him, huh? You don't know the bastard."

"But, I know you, Kenny." Ryan snarled. The hateful glare in her eyes could kill and Troy wondered if she ever had. Killed. Probably.

"Yeah. You do." Kenny's voice dropped low as if seduced by her anger.

"Enough. Just enough. Because Tuck won't save you when I tank your ass," Ryan ground out.

"Mm mm mm, I do like it when you're hostile."

"Suck a dick."

"Sure thing, baby."

Kenny grabbed her by the arm and spun her around roughly, pulling her tight against him, as she tried to shoulder past him.

"Let me go," she said low. Dangerously.

Troy tensed, his fists clenching as he watched on.

"Don't go forgetting who looks out for you. Me. I got you."

"No. I got me."

His grip tightened on her arm and she gasped, hissing through her nose.

"No, no. Don't go acting like a petty bitch. We fight, yeah, but you always come around at night."

"Not anymore or haven't you noticed?" She yanked her arm back hard and stormed off.

Kenny turned his head toward Troy across the way. Troy didn't skulk away ashamed for listening in. Not an ounce of him was ashamed in any way. He worked his jaw, running his tongue underneath his molars. Kenny licked his lips like the smug asshole he was and smiled tightly then walked off in the opposite direction. Kenny was trouble.

* * *

 **Don't forget to review. It encourages updates. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Do Not Own FTWD**

* * *

Chapter 4

A light knock outside jolted Troy up onto his elbows. It was an automatic reflex these days. You never got that heavy comfortable sleep. You slept light, barely getting enough rest to make it through the day, but scarily enough, your brain got used to it, keeping an internal clock to live by. Troy sat up and swung his long legs over the edge of his cot, which was so low that his knees nearly hiked up to his chest.

Ryan stepped in. All of the irritation she'd shown him earlier for his secrecy was gone.

"Can I stay here? Kenny came over to see Tori. She's loud, which you'll no doubt get to hear."

"What about Reed?" His brow furrowed.

"I love my brother, but he snores worse than I do. I just don't tell him that. Sounds like a damn lion with a nasal infection." She laughed at her own joke.

"Sure," he replied after a quiet minute. He hadn't been sleeping right anyway.

"You're monosyllabic, which means you're either deep in thought or majorly pissed off." She watched him move across the room.

Troy shook his head and moved over to the chair he'd put by the window. Ryan sat down on the cot and lay back, not bothering with taking off her boots.

"So, you're just going to watch me as I sleep?" she pondered with a giggle.

"What is it with you?" he asked unable to take her flip flopping back and forth anymore. He was beginning to believe she was more unstable than him.

"With me? Nothing."

"You just enjoy being pissed at me one minute and completely ecstatic the next?" He shrugged restlessly. "You're more fucked up than me."

"No." she turned over on her stomach. "I'm not. I'm the same way with my brother. When he's being stupid then yes, I get annoyed. I don't do well with stupid people. You can't imagine how many shouting matches Grant and I get into."

She turned onto her back to stare up at the ceiling once more.

"Just stop being stupid. I won't get pissed," she half laughed.

She laughed. Was this a game to her? Did she not feel threatened?

"Right." His response was deadpanned.

The sound of crickets filled the air. Troy stared out the window.

"You're remembering, aren't you?" She asked. "Are the memories bad?"

Troy looked down at his feet. Horrifying. That's what they were.

"Yeah. They're bad." He'd been debating leaving. Really leaving. He didn't want to hurt anybody. He didn't want those thoughts he'd had on the Ranch creeping back in. The paranoia. The certainty that people were out to get him. He didn't want any of that.

He chanced looking up and caught her soft gaze in the dark or so he believed. He could make out her shape and the cot, but just barely.

"Did you mean it when you said it was because of me that you felt like you were okay?'

"I'm sorry about that," he said quickly.

"No one's said that before. Never been called an angel. I'm used to being a burden."

"I find that hard to believe. You go out and risk your life to give just an ounce of normalcy to these people. You help get what people need to survive." Troy couldn't believe she thought of herself that way. She never hinted that she felt that way. In a way, he understood. His own family had looked and treated him that way. "You're not a burden. You're a pain in the ass to keep track of."

She laughed aloud then. The sound was jarring, but not unwelcome. It was good actually, high pitched and uncontrollable. After previous encounters, he didn't expect her to want to be close to him. What made her think he wanted that?

A nasty whisper in his mind, faint, warned him that she was only doing it to use him. He tensed. It wasn't that crazy. But, why would she use him? He didn't have much to offer. She's helped him heal up. He didn't have much to offer. He silenced the mumbles in his head at that.

"You don't have to stay awake on my part. I can share," Ryan said. She shifted some, but Troy knew that there wouldn't be enough room no matter what.

"It's fine. I don't sleep much. Too much on my mind, remember?"

"You have to sleep sometime, especially if you want to go into Orleans next week," she implored. "You're not going to offend me by sleeping next to me."

"No, but your snoring might offend me," he kidded.

Even unable to fully see her face, he knew she scowled.

"Ha, jackass."

"And Kenny?"

Ryan didn't reply right away.

"Kenny was a mistake. I thought I was adventurous, it was the end of the world and it turned out that he wasn't something I needed to be involved with. He thinks that since we were together in the same group since the beginning, which we weren't, that he has some weird ownership on me." She scoffed. "It's funny. I can take out a walker, but when he touches me I want to curl up and cry. I don't tell anyone because I don't want to disrupt what we have here."

Yet this prick was off with Tori? That was one good thing Troy knew he'd been taught. There were morals when it came to the opposite sex. Well, except for one woman in particular. He couldn't recall much right now except that she was blonde and strong headed and manipulative. Trying to remember more made him feel sick. He did know that she deserved whatever she got, just like he did.

"Look, my head ain't straight. Not right now. And what I nearly did…" he stopped and sighed.

"It's okay. Really. I would've gone to bunk with Trick or Grant if I was scared of you. And I'm not," she said.

There was no falter. No hint that she was lying to him.

"And what if I snap at some point? What if I try to kill you?" He asked. "It's obvious that I'm not all that sound."

He tapped the uninjured side of his head.

"I poke you with my pointy stick," she lightheartedly. She patted the pillow. "You're at that point now, Troy. I have to start trusting you sometime and you have to let me. Hm?"

His chest tightened. Her trying to get close was a bad idea. There was a trigger and he wasn't sure how sensitive it was. It made him nervous.

He stood and moved over to the cot, sitting on the very edge. He swallowed hard, trying not to shake.

"You act like you've never had a girl in your bed," Ryan joked, sleepily.

He hadn't. There were a lot of things he'd not ever really had. He clenched his fists, debating whether or not to take back letting her stay here. She'd get hurt doing this and he'd be responsible. There was no doubt about it.

He stiffened at feeling her small hand touch the middle of his back where it arched forward. Her eyes were closed.

"Sit up," he said a little too harshly. It was unintentional.

She did. He laid back and shifted the flattened pillow some.

"Okay."

He sucked in a breath as Ryan rested her body against his, nestling to his side, her head lying perfectly tucked in the crook of his arm and shoulder, unbothered by how stuffy and hot it felt. Her entire body gave out, its entire weight laying on him. Her arm rested limply over his waist. He watched her fall deeper and deeper asleep and then closed his eyes. They slept.

* * *

Ryan was gone when Troy woke up. By the position of the sun, it looked to be early afternoon. She, Grant and Kenny were already gone. Had left at dawn according to Lindsey. He woke up in the same position he'd fallen asleep in and could still feel Ryan laying there. It was odd.

Reed was already on the ground with a few others, fixing to lift wood up to the Canopy for repairs. Troy waited at the top with Trick and the two moved it. All the while, he wasn't thinking. Not about a single damn thing. Trick was talking about a recipe he wanted to try out if he could get the right ingredients. Troy wasn't really listening. Cooking wasn't his forte. Plus, Trick sounded real fucking high. Sky high. Jake used to get high with some of their cousins all the time. Somehow, he'd been blamed for it every time, like he was the one who pushed Jake to do it.

They layered the wood off to the side. Reed wanted to at least get the base done for the new room going up. Supports had already been put up. Troy rubbed his eyes, ridding himself of the rest of his grogginess.

"Reed!" That was Grant and he sounded terrified.

Galloping in on one of the horses, he held an arm around Ryan, keeping her tight against him. She sat, limp and collapsed against the Irishman's chest.

"She collapsed!" Grant shouted.

"Trick!" Reed shouted as he pulled down on the horse's reins, calming the animal. It snorted through its nose, breathing hard, probably from running at a nonstop breakneck speed all the way here. Grant carefully handed her to him and then grabbed her bag that was tied to the saddle, swinging it over his shoulder and then following hot on Reed's heels.

Ryan's arms dangled nearly lifeless and her head was back, revealing her throat. Sweat coated her body. On the way to the flat, Reed pressed his ear to her chest.

"She's breathing," he said. "What happened?"

The entire crew brushed past Troy, heading to Reed and Grant's cabin. Troy followed at a distance, listening in.

"A walker spooked her horse and flung her," Grant said. "I guess she wasn't holding to the reins tight enough. Kenny wasn't far behind us."

"Goddamn it! Trick!"

"Coming," came a bellow.

Troy had never heard the hippy talk so seriously. All of the joking in his demeanor was gone. It rattled Troy. He didn't like that.

Reed pulled out his knife from his boot and cut down the fabric of Ryan's top, stopping halfway, but revealing the rest of the red scarring down her chest to her abdomen. Troy gulped. The sight made him stop breathing. Where the hell did she get a scar like that? How did she live with it?

Trick entered, holding the same bag that he'd visited him with.

"What's wrong with her?" Troy asked.

Nobody replied. Trick pulled out a stethoscope and put the nozzles in his ears as he pressed the round piece to her heart. Trick shook his head, distressed.

"Her heart isn't on the right track."

"Do something," Reed said.

"Uuuhhhh. I need—I need—" Trick's eyebrows scrunched as he struggled for the right thought.

"Trick!"

"I need to electrocute her!" He shouted. Jumping to his feet, he ran out of the room.

"What happened!? Tell me everything," Reed growled. His eyes were feral.

"Kenny shot his gun off at a walker and it spooked the horse, I swear," Grant said.

Underneath her head there was a red spot on the pillow. Blood.

"Her head is bleeding," Troy said low.

Trick, ever so gently, turned her head to the side. He paled instantly. There was a gash with bits of hair matted in it.

"Feck," Grant breathed. "She must've hit her head on a rock."

Reed swore.

"I'm keeping everyone out of the area," Tuck said upon walking into the room.

Kenny. Troy inhaled deeply then turned on his heel and walked out. There was nothing he could do right here. He didn't know how to fix her. However, he could talk with the person responsible.

Kenny was making his way over, his brow furrowed with…anger? Was he really angry? This was his fault. If anything, he should've been worrying like the rest of them or at least worrying about his own life.

Troy stopped him in the middle of the bridge, placing his hands up on the rope railings. Kenny tried to pass. Troy didn't budge. Intimidation tactics really did go right through him.

"Oh, are we going to get noble." Kenny sneered.

"You put her in danger again in anyway and I will rip your head from your body then dump you in the bayou." Troy's voice was steady.

"Screw you, giant. It was an accident."

"Bullshite!" Troy turned to see Grant advancing in a fiery fury. His face was so red that it matched his hair. "You didn't need to pull your gun, you little prick."

His tongue rolled harder on his words than usual.

"Oh fuck you! You're both more reckless than I am!" Kenny shouted, pointing at the both of them.

"I swear," Troy repeated, his blue eyes sharper than a knife. "I'll fucking kill you."

"I'll help," Grant affirmed.

Trick came barreling back from his cabin, carrying what looked like a black, plastic remote control. A Taser. Troy looked away. He didn't want to know. He shoved past Kenny, clenching his fist to keep himself from shoving the bastard over the railing. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it would break a few bones. That thought was rather satisfying.

Going to ground, Troy went to the lake. It wasn't a far walk and was much cleaner than the bayou surrounding it. Surveying closely, the area was clear. He sat down on a boulder sticking out of the ground. He didn't know how long he was out there. He turned his head at the sound of footsteps swishing of the grass.

"Hey," Grant said sullenly. He carried two beers in his hands and handed one to Troy. "These are the last two. I think the situation calls for it."

Troy twisted the top off and tossed it aside. He tipped the bottle back, taking long gulps.

"She'll be alright. Trick used the lowest voltage on her with his damn toy. Damn lucky it didn't kill her instead," Grant said.

Troy said nothing. He just stared out at the still water.

"She's been muttering," Grant kept talking. Troy figured it made him feel better. "Ack. That's it. Just Ack."

Ack.

Jack.

At some point, Troy needed to ask her why she kept calling him that.

* * *

The trip was put on hold. Troy ended up going on perimeter duty. Keeping himself from getting attacked by walkers was that kept him distracted. He and Grant would ride out to check the traps; something he never knew about until recently. Off to the east, there were fish and lobster traps out. They had to walk to get to them because of the bear traps, which snagged walkers. Most walkers were crawling on their stomachs, but they still didn't get very far.

Ryan was awake on and off, but not moving around much. Trick had her on bed rest due to needing a jumpstart. Reed refused to leave her side. Neither did Sophie. Troy hadn't visited. He still didn't feel like he was a part of this place. He was a guest.

"Anything good?" Troy asked as Grant brought up the traps.

"Lots of little diggers," Grant said. He held up the mesh net. It was half as full as before.

"We need to start rationing," Troy said. "And plan a trip for more food."

"On it already. Tuck has already told everyone."

Troy sighed, like he did a lot when biting back thoughts and words.

"She wake up yet?"

"Nope. Kenny has tried multiple times to visit her. If it isn't Sophie threatening him it's Shay. He is on his last straw, that man," Grant replied, grunting as he pulled up a metal trap.

Troy's jaw ticked. He'd gone on a few perimeter checks with him—Tuck's request. Maybe Tuck was hoping he'd kill like he wanted to. He certainly didn't have everybody's interests at heart. But who knows?

"Don't worry that pertty little head o'yers, eh? She's got good people taking care of her. It just-just takes a little longer for her to heal up is all," Grant said.

It was silent for a little while as they put the traps back. Even now, Troy was still surprised that The Canopy did alright on growing and raising their food.

"They started this place, ye know," Grant said. "This whole thing was already up and nearly done. It's an architectural project for Reed's class. When all hell broke loose he and I came and hid out here while people fled the city. You could see the fireworks from here."

"How do you know each other?" Troy asked.

"Roommates."

Troy nodded. Made sense.

"Eh." Grant nodded at him. "You ever think of ye family?"

"I wish I didn't," Troy replied honestly.

"I think of mine," Grant said. His face fell. "They probly dead by now."

Troy shrugged. He didn't ask where they were. He didn't have to. Just the distant, morose look told him enough. They were back home. Ireland. There was nothing positive that he could think of to say either. When it came down to it, he was kind of glad his parents were dead.

"Let's get this back." Grant said.

Troy took one of the nets from Grant.

"Ye don't talk much, do ye?" Grant laughed.

"I talk. Just thinking," Troy responded.

"Think too much and you'll get bitten, lad," Grant commented.

Troy shrugged, his eyes squinting through the bright, pale sunlight as he looked around. He didn't see any dead. Didn't hear any either. The place was quiet. Were there other places on this festering planet like this? Oases to hide in and forget what a shitty place this planet had become?

"Ye know, Kenny used to be an al'rite, guy. Still an ass'ole but he had a straight head when he came upon us with Tori."

Used to be. Slowly this whole place was turning everyone into psychopaths. Was that it? Did some just not know how to evolve. Like him? It was uncomfortable to think that he and Kenny were similar. That there were people that he could see himself in. He didn't like the part of himself he saw in Kenny.

"It was when ye washed up along here that he turned into a bigger ass. Grew more hostile. Can't completely blame.'im. Not a'first. You were an outsider. Can't trust those, can we?" Grant laughed boisterously. "The world really showing its true colors."

"You can't," Troy said, adding to it. "Trust me."

He shrugged nonchalantly. It was true. And if that's what really put Kenny on edge…why he hurt others, then he was in the right. Troy had killed many people. Told himself that he tried to help them, tried to save them. Worse, he enjoyed it.

"Just like I can't trust you. Or Kenny."

"Ryan?" Grant's eyebrows perked up and his eyebrow ring moved just a little.

That was it though, wasn't it? He didn't reply to that one. He couldn't figure her out. She was…terrible. The way she got him to think and how he was changing.

"This place won't last," Troy said, ignoring answering about Ryan.

"Yeah, but let's not muder their hopes. When it all comes down we'll be ready."

And Troy believed him. What was the point of taking away the small bit of happiness? You had to leech from wherever you could, no matter how small it was.

They headed back toward the Canopy. The wind rustled through the leaves. It was thick with the smell of summer. Humid and bold.

"Gotta be glad tha most of the bayoo keeps the walkas all stuck up. The alligators eat'em an then they rot. Nasty, but it's nature at her best. Even she hates those nasty bastards." He laughed some more at that.

So did Troy. Grant was sober as he said all of this. The luxury of alcohol ran out when they used the last of it, a half bottle of tequila, on Ryan's injuries. She was getting better every day. That's what Sophie told him whenever he came to ground to hunt the perimeter and she was feeding the chickens.

"Hey," she said, setting her pail down. She wandered past Troy towards the coop. Warily, he followed the teenager, his brows pinching. "So…"

Going inside, Sophie came out holding something…furry. It was red and…white. Oh no, he thought. Ears, larger than its head perked up and brown eyes met his bright greyish ones.

"This is yours…" she held out the baby fox to him.

"Uhhhh…" He didn't take it. Its feet kicked and its paws batted at him playfully.

"The egg I had for you didn't hatch, but I accidentally killed this one's mom when it came snooping around. This little guy was crying not far off and so I've been keeping it with the chickens."

She tilted her head at the little thing.

"Turns out that they have to be taught to eat chickens and such. It really likes hunting down field mice," she went on. She swung the furry animal a little.

"I don't want that thing," Troy said.

Sophie frowned and then took a few steps forward and dropped the fox in his hands. It squirmed a little.

"That don't matter. It has no parents. No family. Just like you. You need each other. It'll be good." She patted the furry thing on the head and then walked past them to finish with the chickens.

Troy held up the fox with his hand under it. His eyebrows lifted. It stared at him just as sadly as he did it.

"I'm going to get you killed," he said, shaking head. He didn't kill animals except to eat. But, he'd never had a dog or cat while growing up. He wasn't allowed. How the hell was he going to take care of this furry thing in this world? Its fur was as bright as a flare in the night sky. Walkers would be all over it in a heartbeat. And, it was helpless. There was a quiet pattering sound on the ground. The fox pissed itself, the urine landing inches from his boots. Troy shook his head again. "Okay…"

Grant had waited at the lift and was grinning like a moron.

"You gotta friend, eh? She's cute," he said, rubbing his meaty fingers on her head. "Got to have cute things in the world or else why stay alive. What's 'er name?"

Troy's lips pursed. A name. He hadn't thought about it. The fox tilted its head back, trying to look at him, quite curious.

"Basil."

"An 'erb?" Grant looked at him strangely now.

"It's considered a kingly name," Troy said. He remembered it from somewhere…

The fox seemed to approve. Grant's head tilted to the side, peeking under its legs.

"It's a girl, lad," he told him with a frown.

Troy looked down at her. Her eyes were soft, filled with fear. He tucked one hand under her tail and cradled her in the crook of his arm. She wouldn't be able to be afraid forever, just like he couldn't.

"Women can be kingly. I've seen it. It's terrifying," Troy said. Basil nuzzle against his shoulder, pawing, trying to get up on top. He gave her a lift. If she was like normal canines she'd grow fast.

Grant shrugged.

"Hey, whatever you say. I know a few people that will be jealous you got yourself a companion tho', tha's for sure," he said.

Basil made a sound between song and a mewl. Her vocal cords vibrated. He sighed. How was he going to keep her quiet? He rubbed under her cheeks as they were pulled upward. That seemed to do the trick.

Troy put her in his room. She took to the spot under his chair and didn't move, not even when he left to get her food and some of his own water. She remained there. He gave her his pillow to lay on. It wasn't like there was much of a difference without it. She watched him whenever he was around.

Soon enough, Basil was following him across the bridges and to the pit. Tori, Sophie, and Shay gushed over the growing pup. She didn't leave Troy's side at all though. It was unnerving sometimes. She had no clue what he'd done and didn't care. She just curled up under his feet, her body behind them and her head and tail on top of them, trapping him until he'd need to get up. To her, he was her parent or something.

"It's _Fox and the Hound_ with you two." Troy looked up from the CB radio he'd been fiddling with on Grant's suggestion. Troy's brows furrowed and Basil let out a hefty sigh. Reed crouched down and rubbed behind her big ears. "She's gotten big."

She nipped at his fingers lightly. She had. Her tail nearly covered his boots entirely now.

"Ryan is up and around. If you see her let me know," Reed said off-handedly.

"I never see her."

Reed sighed.

"I know she's going out and I wish she wouldn't," he said. "Grant isn't helping by going with her."

"She can handle herself," Troy put simply.

"How do you know?" Reed snapped harshly.

Troy paused, his fingers stopping as he was messing with wires. A dangerous look met Reed when he raised his head. Reed cringed and shrank back.

"I'm sorry," Reed said, shaking his head. "I just…she's the only family I have left and she's hanging by a thread."

"You've got more family than the rest of us," Troy pointed out.

Reed's chest puffed up as he inhaled deeply. Troy was right. There was something else he wanted to say, but couldn't. He swallowed it back and stood.

"Anything so far with that?" Reed nodded at the radio.

"Wires are frayed and even if a signal could get out, it would be weak, I think," Troy replied.

"Hm. Tuck has some electrical tape I think," Reed said. He switched topics again as if Troy didn't notice the worry that plagued him. "Still heading into the city?"

"Tomorrow. Shay is going to watch Basil." Troy went back to the radio again.

"You won't take her?"

"She'll get in the way and I don't want to be responsible for walkers eating her," Troy replied completely focused on the radio. Basil chirped and rubbed her head against his leg. "Sophie would get pissed."

"You caring about animals and people…" Troy could hear the grin in Reed's voice. "Turns out you're not the sociopath Kenny keeps telling everyone you are."

"Well, I'd prefer a teenager not try to kill me while I sleep. I don't think I'd be forgiven for snapping her neck in defense."

"Uh…yeah. That'd be difficult."

"Hm."

"Ry says you had a tough life before this."

"I had a life." Troy agreed, but he sure as hell wasn't talking about it. Images, terrible ones, still shook him awake in a cold sweat at night. They were getting clearer and he didn't like that.

"We've all had to do things we didn't want to."

Troy snorted and then laughed. He looked up.

"Didn't? No. Everything, I did, I wanted to. My only regret was that I didn't kill one person in particular, but I believe-I hope that she's dead at this point because she was far worse than me…and it was me who let her be that way." The smile that lit up his face didn't dim.

"She deserves to be dead?" Reed almost stuttered on his words nervously. "I guess there are people out there that deserve, but…"

"She deserved that and more. She walked through the gates of my home and took over. She worked her way into my head, like my Dad did. Toyed with me. And then, she killed me." Troy pointed up at the soft tissue of his temple with the screwdriver in his hand. "She was the damn devil."

"Tried." Reed corrected. "Tried to kill you. By the looks of it, it was a good thing, too. You aren't anything like this guy you keep talking about. He's all in your head."

Troy nodded. He was there all right. The lines between who he was right now and that other person, it was thinning more and more.

"People keep saying that."

Silence stretched between them.

"I hope the bitch is dead, too. Whoever she is," Reed said. "Some people shouldn't be alive."

Like me, Troy thought. He was still as uncertain about himself as he was the day he woke up in this overly large treehouse.

"The new section ready yet?" Troy asked, taking his turn to change the subject now.

"Just about. Checking structures and safety measures today. In a couple days, we can move a few people out, spread out the cabins."

That was the gist of their talking. Reed didn't have an ill bone in his body, but like Ryan, he could go off like dynamite if provoked. It was dangerous. That was good and useful these days.

Basil wandered off. He didn't worry because she understood pretty quickly that jumping out the ground would probably kill her. Odds were, she probably went back to the cabin. She never went anywhere without being up his ass, except to go nap on her pillow, or the end of the cot if he wasn't using it. For a wild animal, she was spoiled.

He returned to his cabin after helping Reed and Grant with checking the new space. It wasn't as good as what they had already, but materials were growing scarce. An actual trip into a town or even the city would need to be made. Even regular supplies were dwindling—food, ammunition, medical supplies. Tori and Kenny were out today. He was glad Kenny was out being productive. Better then him skulking around here.

Troy paused in the doorway of his cabin. Ryan lay on his cot with a bundle of fiery fur curled against her stomach. Her fingers had tufts of fur sprigging between them.

"This was the only place I could hide to get away from my brother," Ryan mumbled.

"It's fine." Basil raised her head and then quickly jumped down and went to her spot under the chair.

She made a small, airy sigh and snuggled her face deeper into the pillow beneath her head. She had to of brought it because his only one was underneath Basil who was napping once again.

He watched on for a minute or two and then turned, to walk out. Best to leave her in peace. Best to not tempt him. Not completely sound, he knew better.

"Are you angry at me?" Her voice was soft.

Angry?

Troy turned quickly. Ryan's eyes were still closed, but he knew she was awake-ish.

"No."

"Mm, good."

He walked out, but stopped just on the balcony.

Why did it matter what he felt about her? If he was honest, he'd tell her he felt absolutely nothing about her or toward her. But, he'd say that if he were dishonest, too. She'd become a fixture to his days. She didn't have to say anything. Seeing her had become so normal, just as Grant's vile humor had. It was all taking up those foggy spots.

Troy walked out and looked over the small balcony. Below, Shay and a few others were walker patrolling. He noted the smoke not far off. Kenny was burning the dead again. They were all very lucky that it didn't draw people to them. Or maybe it did and that's how they came to be this big. Troy didn't ask a lot of questions. Figured that if they didn't ask many questions out of him—thank god, they didn't because he didn't want to encourage any doubt—then he shouldn't ask many either. Not unless prompted anyway.

"Rumor has it that you are heading into the city tomorrow."

Troy turned his head. Tuck was walking toward him, a friendly smile reaching so high up that his eyes wrinkled.

"Not a rumor. I want to see if there's anything worth salvaging. You did say we were running low on supplies, and I've been working on the CB radio, but it's a piece of shit. I just tossed it, actually." Troy pointed down at the ground. Bits of metal and plastic littered the ground. "It bounced."

Tuck let out a belly-deep laugh.

"Well, I guess we aren't going to be reaching out to other people anytime soon then."

"I don't suggest that." Troy looked at his hands.

Tuck leaned on the gnarled banister next to him. Troy guess the banister had been replaced at one point since many others were perfectly sanded down and measured. This one was sturdy enough though.

"Don't suggest looking for other people?" Tuck asked.

"You could be inviting the wrong people. People who could hurt—" Troy broke off his sentence.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say or who's name. A few came to the tip of his tongue and he didn't know why. He wasn't related to them. They weren't his friends…

Troy's forehead creased with discomfort and struggle. They were just people. He was doing his job. Protecting them. Nothing more, right?

"We invited you," Tuck commented. It wasn't rude or accusatory.

"I still think that was a bad idea." Troy smiles the smallest bit.

"You didn't turn out so bad," Tuck said.

"But I was once." Troy frowned right then.

"Are you right now?"

"I don't know." Troy shook his head. "I'm…confused."

"Well, I haven't met this person. The one that's on your mind so often. Whoever he was, you're not him anymore."

"But he's there." Troy reach up and tapped the side of his head, the side not touchy from being bashed in with a hammer.

"And you're really knocking yourself for it, hm?"

Something like that. He was just trying to stay unattached. No attachments meant people stayed alive longer, right?

Troy sighed and nodded reluctantly.

"This is—for a lot of people including myself—a fresh start." Tuck told him. Though Troy was curious, but he didn't ask why this was a fresh start for him, but it was possible he could relate. "Take advantage of it. You're free."

"Is that what this is?" Troy joked and even laughed.

Tuck laughed, too, and then they were both laughing out loud because all in all, this so-called freedom sucked. It was a good feeling—to laugh, even in this situation. Tuck patted him on the back.

"Don't let your conscience drown you for too long now. A lot of people count on you and god forbid, they actually like you," Tuck said.

Troy didn't understand why anyone would feel that way, but he guessed that's how it was sometimes. People weren't meant to understand everything. They just had to accept it sometimes. Otherwise they ended up like this, confused and chasing their tail.

Tuck gave one last smile before wandering off.

"He's right."

Troy turned his head, looking back over his shoulder. Ryan leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed, rubbing up and down them. Her eyes were still hazy with sleep and her hair was pillow tousled.

Troy nodded his head side to side.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," she said. It wasn't an offer.

"Reed's going to love that," Troy said. He bit his bottom lip, wrinkling his nose with frustration.

"He'll get over it."

She took Tuck's spot next to him.

"Alive?" She asked.

Was he alive? Literally, sure. Inside? Was anybody?

Her ponytail rested on her right shoulder. The sun made her skin glisten gold. If he had to guess, it was north of eighty degrees today. A hot day.

Alive? The one word question made him want to laugh.

"For the most part," he answered.

Her eyebrows flicked upward once at the answer and then she smiled, amused.

"Me too."

* * *

 **Don't forget to review. I'd really appreciate feedback.**

 **3 MQ**


	5. Chapter 5

**I just want to say thank you to those who read and enjoy this story. I hope you continue to enjoy it.**

* * *

Chapter 5

Taking two horses, Troy and Ryan left at dawn. Troy had suggested bringing extra people, but Ryan shot that down real quick, insisting she was well enough and that he could watch her back just fine. She believed going out in groups attracted more, unneeded attention.

She had a plan and that made him realize that she'd been to the city more often than she let on and she'd gone by herself. That's why Tuck and Reed grew so worried when she'd go out.

"Avoid the bayou at all costs. Walkers get stuck up in there and they will drag you down faster than a catfish can get off the hook," Ryan warned. She stared out at the distance in the direction of the bayou, leading her horse along the path. Troy thought about what Grant had said about the alligators. Those scared him more. He didn't let on though.

Troy wrinkled his nose. He could smell the corpses and the bayou spotted around the area for miles. It was rank. Troy kept the bayou in mind. Should there be any problems with unwanted guests, it could be useful to drag them out there. Let the walkers feast on them. Slow. Disgusting. Painful. And all that screaming would get lost in the muck and fog. It was a comforting thought. A haunting one as well.

Ryan took the lead toward New Orleans. The sun was past midafternoon by the time they made it to the outskirts.

"The city is pretty docile unless you head into the inner city or the French Quarter. You know, since that's where people liked to be all up each other's asses. Thank god, this outbreak didn't happen during Mardi Gras, though. That would've been all kinds of nasty." Ryan snorted out the last bit.

"So, you lived here?" Troy nodded at the city. They went on the main highway in.

"Yeah. Grew up not far from the French Quarter. I used to work at a small shop."

Troy's eyebrows rose curiously as he watched her think. Her face pinched more and more at her eyebrows. It was funny. He'd not seen a look like that before. She seemed distressed at remembering, and yet also disturbed.

He knew the usual stories about New Orleans. On the outside it was a tourist destination for partying. In the deep dark night, it was filled with magic and wandering dead. That's what he'd always been told by his brother anyway.

"Witchy New Orleans. Think there's anybody alive in there?"

"Yes. And we need to be as stealth as possible which is why we're not going too far in. We'll check around the French Quarter and carefully. No need to get ourselves killed."

Troy's gaze had wandered as she spoke. They'd passed so many cars. Many of the doors were opened and so were a few gas lids. Windows were cracked and busted. Some had scorch marks while others were singed with rust. Some appeared to salvageable. Belongings, dusted with dirt, were strewn across the asphalt from civilians who'd tried to escape the city. Here and there, a walker or two would wander out, getting blocked by the abandoned vehicles. They'd groan in confusion about getting hung up, but would continue to try and come after them.

"Why not lift a few cars?" Troy asked. Horses were fine and all, but with the right vehicle you could carry more. And they were faster and safer. "Why horses?"

"Animals can sense the dead and can manage silence. Cars are loud and can give away your position." Ryan looked at him as if the answer was obvious.

Troy's mouth drew down and his eyebrows shot up, impressed. She made a valid point.

"How did manage to get these horses anyway?"

"Reed and I found one still attached to a carriage when we were in the city only a few weeks after everything happened. Two others came from a farm and we found another just wandering across a field. We've been around all of New Orleans, and I do mean around, not all the way in. The very center has to be a pit of rot and infection." She shook her head imagining it.

"It's good you found them then," Troy said.

Ryan patted her horse on the neck. It shook and reared its head back, neighing softly. She smiled.

The walker population went from a slimy trickle to a stream of groans and hisses. They stopped right before a congested bridge. Cars clogged the road and in between them, walkers. Troy sighed heavily through his nose. They weren't getting across this bridge.

Ryan got off of her horse and took a few steps. Troy followed.

"I may have an idea."

Ryan looked up at him, waiting.

"It's disgusting, but I learned it from somebody I used to know."

"Somebody you killed?" Ryan asked. Her lips pursed together with regret right after the words came out.

Troy's jaw hardened. _Yeah, people weren't judging. They were just…_

He shook his head. He didn't know if Nick was dead or alive. The guy had been the closest thing he'd had to a friend. Maybe that was because he was just as fucked up as him. Troy swore he was suicidal. He was always putting himself in unnecessary dangerous situations. Troy did hope he was alive somewhere though. Maybe he'd find some sort of peace. At least he'd shown him something useful. Useful and disgusting.

He didn't look at Ryan, but knew she'd shrunken down two sizes.

"No, I didn't kill him." His voice was stone cold.

She didn't say anything and he didn't stick around to listen to whatever she wanted to blame him for next. Surging forward, he took out his hunting knife and took out a couple walkers that were close. They fell with a squish. Quickly, he grabbed two by the arms and pulled. One's arms came completely off, ripping like a chicken wing and the other's pulled out of the socket, but still hung on.

He dropped the walker and the limp arm at Ryan's feet and dug his hands into the open hole of the walker's stomach. ¾ of its intestines were missing, but there was still some gooey parts inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ryan stepped back, her nose wrinkled.

"Don't want to get eaten alive?" Troy pulled his hands out, covered in blood tainted nearly black and rubbed his face. "Do what I'm doing. Do it fast."

Ryan didn't move.

"Ry, I swear…" he growled.

She huffed and dug her small hands into the walker, turning green almost instantly. They're hands collided in the tight space. She yanked her hands back, ripping the large cavity even more. Swallowing and holding her breath, she rubbed her hands on her arms, shaking horribly.

"Hold still." Troy, now standing in front of her and already covered in rot, rubbed his gut drenched hands on her shoulders and over her neck. He didn't touch anything below that point, having seen the puckered marks that were dark purple near her scar. Slowly, his thumbs stroked her jaw and then circled over her cheeks careful to avoid going anywhere near her eyes. He did her forehead, pressing some into her hairline.

"There," he said.

"This is disgusting." She gagged.

"This is what will allow us to move through the city," he said, completely null.

She looked down at her boots and stepped backwards, pulling her face from his hands.

He could strangle her with them and it would be easy. There was nobody out here to stop him or save her. He frowned. He wouldn't do that. He was pissed off. Not homicidal. Turning, he moved to the walker arm and strung it up off the side of his horse and then dismembered what was left of the one he'd violated and strewed it across both of the horses. Both animals were shaking their heads and wobbling to the sides. Thank god, they didn't try to eat it though.

"Let's go," Troy said. "Take it slow so we don't draw attention."

The loud clops of the horses were the only noise, but the walkers they strolled past didn't pay attention. Some of them were stuck behind cars while those who weren't kept walking.

Once across the bridge, the streets were barer. Ryan saddled back up on her horse.

"The French Quarter isn't far from here," she said.

Troy nodded.

Silence stretched. But, silence was good. It kept the walkers from following them. Troy could see the way she slumped slightly and how her eyes had hardened.

The streets narrowed as they moved through neighborhoods of shacks and dilapidated homes that were warped and tilting and threatening to collapse. The sun was chasing the horizon now, turning the sky violent shades of orange, purple and fuchsia though overhead it was still pale blue. Dusk would be approaching soon.

"Katrina victims were still rebuilding after all this time," Ryan muttered.

Troy didn't say anything.

"The hurricane?" She supplied. Troy nodded. He remembered his Dad saying once that it was God's will to wash out the sinful and cultists and…everything. The man had a lot of hatred. That this city should've been obliterated. Seeing it now, it was tragic. These people, after so many years, still hadn't recovered and were screwed when this happened.

Soon enough, past what felt like endless debris, they happened across an old part of town. The buildings were old, but in a historical sense. It made Troy shudder. They were creepy. He checked down alleys they crossed. Walkers were wandering everywhere. The blood on his face mixed with sweat and dripped downward. He was careful to breathe through his mouth, not his nose. Every so often he wiped his mouth with a clean spot of his shirt.

Ryan kept her eyes forward. Any wrong move and they could end up very dead, like these things. She stopped out front of an open archway.

"We're staying here tonight," Ryan said, pulling her reins for the horse to turn into a court yard. It followed her pull, its hooves clopping on the asphalt. She hopped off quickly as a few walkers turned and drifted in her direction.

Troy muttered under his breath and jumped down from his horse in time to get one of them.

"So, you're just giving me orders now? That's where we're at?" He spoke, out of breath.

"We're staying here because I know this city. Do you?" She quirked an eyebrow, daring him to argue. "Plus, this place is enclosed. Easier to clear out and keep out."

Troy squinted, looking up at the second story balcony, the dead vine over the iron wrought fence, anywhere that wasn't at her.

"Let me put this simply," he said, low and dangerously. "I'm not your little bitch you can boss around and I don't appreciate the sudden presumptions, so be careful."

Ryan rolled her eyes and it made his shoulders tense. He swallowed hard. She'd shed her guilt just like that and was now just as annoyed as him. How much longer was this going to go on? How long was he going to be following everybody else?

Then he felt himself start to relax at a sudden thought. Maybe it wasn't so bad. That meant he didn't have to make any decisions. Didn't actually have to worry about anybody, though he did anyway. He looked back at Ryan as she made her way toward the double door entrance of the building.

"Fine," she said, still walking. Her short sword gleamed under the hot sun. "Just shut the gates on your way out."

She really didn't have any tolerance for stupid people. That, or her strength for fighting people was low so she let them walk away. He closed the gates and then followed her inside. Two walkers were piled dead on the floor.

The building didn't have many dead. They were quiet in disposing the corpses. Troy noted the exits, marking them in his brain just in case of an emergency.

They sat down in a large living room, taking a moment to breathe. Ryan stretched her legs across the loveseat, dangling her legs over the arm. The walker blood had dried on her skin. Troy sat down on a stiff chair and propped up his feet on the coffee table. The air was stale, but the place was fancy. Troy could hear his mother's grating voice about getting the furniture dirty and accidentally breaking things. Nag. Nag. Nag.

"There's gotta be food in this place," Ryan mumbled. She grimaced and touched her flat stomach.

Troy looked at the marks on her chest. Where Trick had taken his Taser to her. He still hadn't asked her about any of it. The heart irregularity. The scar. The story. He couldn't. On some level, he was afraid to know. That and he didn't feel like getting glared at and then have some part of his dignity snapped off. Was it as horrific as what had happened to him?

She hopped up and wandered from the room, through the dining room and to the kitchen. Each room was large and could house over ten people comfortably. He looked around the room some more and came to the conclusion that, yes, the place was fancy. A fancy crypt. There was uncomfortable chairs and couches. Rough rugs that he couldn't' imagine putting his bare feet on. A fire place in nearly every room, probably clogged up too. Old paintings covered the walls, some with battles or massacres. The windows were shadowed with heavy drapes. A real fancy crypt.

"Holy shit!"

Troy snapped from his train of thought and bounded into the kitchen, skidding and sliding on carpet. He nearly slid into the counter when he found her in the kitchen.

Ryan's hand was held to her mouth tightly as she looked at an open pantry. A very full, open pantry. Cans upon cans of vegetables and fruit. Jars of peanut but. Bags of noodles, flour, and cereal.

"We have to take this back. All of it," she mumbled. "This is…" She was calculating the days—the weeks of food here.

Troy moved past her, grabbing a jar of peaches in clear liquid from the top shelf. He looked closely at it and then grinned. This was good. Real good.

"Is that…" Ryan nodded at it.

"Oh, yeah," Troy replied. His smirk blew into a full grin. "Moonshine."

Damn if Ryan did flush a little at the sight of it. The moonshine. But, the grin was disturbingly charming as well.

"We're definitely staying here," she said, then turned on her heel and grabbed her sword from the counter.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm going to go check the gates, get rid of whatever is at it. We should probably try to stay as quiet as possible too," she said. She returned ten minutes later.

"I'm going upstairs," Troy said. He didn't say anything else and didn't need to. Ryan had already begun digging around for something to eat and then decided to look around in closets for bags to for all of the food and whatever else they could find to take back to the Canopy.

Upstairs, Troy found a First Aid Kit. That would be good to have in case of another incident or worse. The more he looked around, the more he saw that the people who'd lived here didn't really take anything with them. They had to be those type of people who thought money would get them to safety. That, or they thought they'd be coming back. They were probably the ones that he and Ryan ganked and dumped in the corner of the courtyard. Poor bastards.

There were so many things that were here for the taking, from clothes to toiletries. If he wasn't concerned about getting cornered in this place and then overrun, he would suggest everyone come here. But, this was a big city. There were swarms all over the place. Surely, most of them they couldn't see right now and would come out at the worst possible time.

The lights remained out, but the water worked. Another miracle. It was cold, but it didn't compare to the lake.

Searching the bedrooms—there were seven—he found clothes close to his size. He left the bedroom door open. The bathroom door, too, though cracked instead of wide open. Easier to hear any stray walkers or intruders. Then he got into the shower.

Yes, this was one of the few things he missed. For a while he just stood there and watched the water go down the drain, trails of dark, infected blood snaking its way down the drain. Here and there he would go still at hearing floorboards creak or a door shut then had to remind himself that Ryan was in the house.

"Grant is going to shit himself," he heard Ryan say aloud from nearby. He couldn't place where exactly. Her voice echoed.

He didn't necessarily feel better after showering, but a weight had been lifted. Some of the knots in his shoulders had loosened and relaxed. He looked at himself in the mirror. The paleness of his skin was gone, replaced with actual color. He opened the cabinet. It was littered with aspirin, toothpaste, Midol, and shaving razors. He picked up the razor and closed the cabinet.

Ryan stopped in the doorway when he was about halfway finished with the stubble on his jaw.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, not paying any mind that all that covered him was a towel around his waist.

He paused. She was still covered in rotting blood, though there were signs she's wiped her face in places.

"A little."

"We all have our little things that make us feel almost normal," she said, her head lying against the wooden doorframe.

He finished up and walked past her, out of the bathroom. His arm brushed her shoulder and he felt sweat smear his skin. There was a dark streak on his arm. Walker. She didn't turn around as he dressed. When he sat on the end of the bed, she did.

"I figure, there's a staircase off the balcony in the bedroom down the hall. We can stay there. Quick escape."

Troy shook his head, scoffing softly.

"What?"

"Nothing. This is…this place should be ransacked," Troy said.

"Should, but isn't. Which is another good reason to stay near an exit."

She twiddled the tip of her sword on the tip of her finger almost breaking the skin. Troy stared out the window.

"One hour," he said and swallowed.

Ryan's eyebrows furrowed.

"One hour?"

"Take one hour and enjoy it. Don't think about exit strategies and stockpiling. Don't think about the fact that this place is swarming with walkers. Don't think about everyone who counts on you."

"Ignore the apocalypse?" Her lips pursed together thoughtfully.

She nodded, her face falling as she mulled it over and then set her weapon on the dresser. She walked around to the side of the bed and lay down. Well, actually, she plopped down and the bed bounced a little. Troy looked over his shoulder at her.

"This is how you're doing it?"

"A nap. Yes," she said, closing her eyes.

He chuckled low. It wasn't what he would've done with an hour, but sleep was a rarity anymore. There was no such thing and a good night's rest when your nightmares were having nightmares.

"On the day that…" she stopped, touching her chest, running her fingers over the scar, "well, it's not really the end of the world because we're still here, so, epidemic? Anyway, on that day, I was recovering from a heart transplant. Then dead people all over the hospital were waking up and biting people. So on and so forth. My surgeon and one of the nurses found me. They put me in one of those rooms on the psych floor. They're all white and padded. They locked me in with just enough painkillers to last me only until the next day, but he said he'd come back."

She stopped, shuddering out a breath. Troy decided that he didn't want to know the story about her scar anymore. It was horrifying. To be locked up, thinking you were going to die. He knew what it was like.

"I can still hear the scratching and the moans. My doctor came back, just as one of those things. I don't know how long I was in there. Days. I…was in and out of sleep. I knew I was done for. I was going to die and in one of those creepy ass rooms. But, I woke up at one point and my brother and Grant were hauling me out of that room. He was supposed to visit me anyway after the surgery. I bet he didn't expect it to go that way. It was all a blur after. I was delirious, but apparently I kept asking for them to kill me."

He turned forward as she kept talking.

"So, my brother worries every second of every day because I didn't have all of the right tests and rehab to make sure this heart works. Any bit of trouble and I chance having a half-assed med student defibbing me with a Taser." She shook lightly with soft laughter.

"So, we're friends now? Is that it?" That was the only condition that she'd stated for telling him this story.

"You were wondering," she said flatly.

"Hm."

"The Canopy is always debating who had it worse. Me? Or Trick? He came wandering around after escaping a cult that thought walkers were the work of God and that getting bitten meant you were rising up, ascending into heaven or whatever. He ran and was on his own for a long time."

Jesus. Trick never let on. There was no tell. The guy was always positive and annoyingly chill.

"My mother and father were assholes. Racist assholes. A few generations back, we stole other people's lands and even killed them. Mom liked to hit me and lock me up. Dad didn't really give a shit since he had my brother. We were the typical Christian family ready for the end of the world," he said.

He laughed. Saying it aloud. They were really fucked up.

"Jesus," she muttered. "Like, crazy, bible-thumping?"

"Bible-blasting. Anyone who didn't fall in line was terminated," he said. "When all of this happened. I fell for it. Cowered right under that bus and let it run me over until I lost my goddamned mind. Thought, I finally had a purpose. Thought I was doing good by my dad. Good by people. Guess not. So, that's my full story."

"It's good you're out," she said after a long silence.

"Out? I'm not out," he snapped. "It's all here!"

He smacked his head against the side of his head.

Ryan crawled up next to him. The smell of rot and death was still all over her and made his nose wrinkle. His gag reflex lurched.

"No, I don't believe it," she said.

"Oh really?"

"I think God fucking sucks." She moved her head side to side, mulling her own words.

"He does," Troy agreed.

"If you were your parents, you wouldn't be alive. This new world doesn't have time for misogynistic assholes with a god complex."

Her face was blank of its laughing good nature. He knew she was right, but that didn't mean that bad people weren't out there. All kinds of people that were naturally good probably turned bad in all of this. It was survival of the fittest.

Ryan set her chin on his shoulder. The small bit of pressure there made his nerves twitch.

"Don't worry, Jack. I'll make a team player out of you yet," she kidded. Her cool breath tickled his ear.

"Why do you call me that? Jack." He eyed her.

"That one song. John Mellencamp? You're always trying to leave. Go to new places. Get yourself into trouble. Seemed funny at the time," she admitted.

"You know that song isn't just about—"

Ryan cut him off in a sleepy voice.

"I know. How many minutes left?" She yawned.

"Forty-seven," he replied.

"Mmmm, forty-seven minutes of sleep. Doable. You should take advantage, too," she mumbled.

Advantage. His chest tightened at the word. He swallowed hard.

People really didn't pay attention to the words they said. Damn shame.

Scooting backwards onto the bed, he lay back, keeping distance between them. He watched her. Her eyes were closed. Her face was completely relaxed as she hung between awake and asleep.

"Sure, _Diane_. How are you feeling?" he asked. Her body did this thing where it all at once relaxed, letting go.

"I'm okay. Have to be," she said, barely audible. Her hand skimmed over the comforter and touched his shoulder, and then like that, she was asleep.

He continued to watch, remaining alert. Outside, he could hear the walkers roaming. The smell of the ones in the courtyard, decomposing, was reaching them up here. Maybe it would keep the others away. He let her sleep longer than the forty-seven minutes and watched air fill her lungs steadily.

He went downstairs after a while. The pantry was still open and he really wanted to bring all of it back. That and eat all of it. His stomach rumbled. There was more than they could carry here.

A drink was definitely what he needed right now. He reached backward and his hand slapped down on the counter. He glanced down and his breath caught. The jar of moonshine he'd left on the counter was gone.

Troy unsheathed his knife quietly. Bending at the knees some, just in case he had to run or lunge, he slowly made his way out of the kitchen. He needed to get back to Ryan as fast and quietly as possible. There was somebody else here with them.

"Troy…"

Troy spun around in the study. Ryan stared at him with tight eyes, gleaming with the last bits of sun that came in through the windows. A large kitchen knife was at her throat, the angle causing her to tilt her head so that she didn't get cut.

Troy's gaze hardened. The man that had her appeared to be in his thirties. He cleaned up pretty well, wearing a tan suit and being clean shaven. He had his other arm around Ryan's waist, pressing her back against him.

"We weren't expecting visitors today," the man said.

"We're not visiting," Ryan gritted out.

"Ah, right. You just decided to make yourselves right at home."

"You're going to want to let her go. Now." Troy fumed. His heart rattled in his chest.

Troy's gaze hardened. The man that had her appeared to be in his thirties. He cleaned up pretty well, wearing a tan suit. He had his other arm around Ryan's waist, pressing her back against him.

This entire situation made him uncomfortable. It wasn't that long ago that he'd been on the other side of this situation. Ryan didn't shake or sweat with tight nerves. She was calm. Each breath she took was steady.

"Let her go?" The man laughed. "Not happening. Especially since you look ready to kill. Makes me think she's useful. So, she's my only leverage right this second."

He pressed the sharp edge into her throat, pressing against her skin.

Ryan gritted her teeth together. There was a plan working behind her cold eyes and Troy wish he knew what it was. He'd go along with it without a second thought.

"What do you want?" Ryan's throat bobbed as she spoke.

"Well, you broke in here, cleared out the dead—thank you by the way—and now you're just taking our stuff?"

 _Our? Shit._ No wonder this place didn't appear ransacked. It wasn't. This place was well lived in.

Going straight for this psycho would be a terrible idea. Troy's nose reared up with disgust at the possessive way Ryan was being held. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife.

In a matter of seconds, Ryan elbowed her man-handler, spinning in his grip and shoved the flat of her palm upward, breaking his nose. From behind, Troy reached over her shoulder and shoved the knife through his neck. Blood spilled out and down, covering her in even more blood. She stumbled backward into Troy and he pulled her back to stand behind him as the mystery psycho gurgled as he fell to his knees and died. Troy ran the knife through the back of his head. There was no way this asshole was coming back.

When he stood back up, Ryan was staring down at herself, frumpled and frazzled.

"So much for not waking up cranky," she muttered.

Troy jerked her head up by her chin. There was a small cut on her throat. Nothing serious.

"Are you finished?" she asked, eyeing him.

"The cut isn't that bad." He let go.

He made his way out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"There are others here. I'm going to get rid of them."

"I'll take the upstairs," she said.

"No, stick together," Troy said.

"Well, I have to go upstairs anyway. He disarmed me and I'm not walking anywhere around this place without anything."

Ryan stalked out of the room, hurrying upstairs. Troy barely kept up. She was short, but fast. By the time he was at the top of the stairs, she already had her sword. Disregarding the amount of blood all over herself, she whipped the double-edged blade, ready to stab something.

"Where did you get that pointy thing anyway?" he asked, giving it a nod. It was odd to see a weapon of the Crusades being wielded. Such weapons were meant to be in museums or buried. What other medieval weapons were being whipped around on walkers, battle axes? He snorted thinking about it. Humanity had truly been brought into a new age, one in which it fell backwards yet forwards. It was a paradox, but so were zombies.

"Reed got it. Found it in a museum." Then she let out a single laugh. The sound was quiet and sleepy. "He said it was better than a knife and that I have weak wrist. A longer blade would help keep me from getting bitten."

He could picture it. She was good with it. She'd probably taken off a few heads with that thing.

Every crevice and nook was empty. The rest of the house was empty. Except the basement. The door was in the kitchen. Behind it there was a scratching and rustling. Troy didn't hear it before.

"So…you want to, uh, open the door?" Ryan looked up at him.

She looked like a walker. It was laughable.

"You want me to open it?" he frowned.

"Gentlemen first." She smirked.

"If a horde comes out of there I'm going to kill you."

"Like I haven't heard that one before." She rolled her eyes.

Tentatively, he grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. A woman and two others came flying out at the two of them. The woman and a young man, young than Ryan by the looks of it, attacked Troy. A woman attacked Ryan, sending her to the floor.

"Stop! We don't mean any harm!" Ryan shouted.

"This is our place! We found it!" The woman gritted through her teeth.

"We'll leave! Just stop!"

Her body went limp suddenly and her full weight bared down on Ryan. She was dead. Troy stood over them.

Ryan shoved the body to the side and stood up.

"We could've made a deal," Ryan said.

"They weren't going to reason," Troy said. Those walkers that greeted us when we came in were probably their last victims."

Ryan shook her head, biting the inside of one cheek. She didn't like killing, but sometimes there was no choice.

"Let's get them outside," he said.

"Is this all of them?"

Troy trotted downstairs. A dim lamp was lit in the corner of the damp basement. There were two mattresses, a stock pile of food in the opposite corner, and a bucket. He was not checking _that_ out. Didn't need to when he could smell it. He held his breath and hurried back upstairs.

"It's clear," he said.

"Good."

They dragged all of the bodies out to the courtyard. A small line of walkers pressed against the gate. They took care of them, too, before heading back inside.

"Now, I definitely need a shower," Ryan said.

"And I need a drink."

They separated ways, sure that they were officially alone now.

Before turning for the kitchen, he heard the water turn to spray as she turned the shower on and paused. He stared up the stairwell and swallowed hard. He was a guy. It was normal to think things. And damn, did he try not to. But, she'd left the doors open. There was nothing stopping him from going up there.

And he'd been around women before. They were all the same. Shot him glares. Reared their lips up at him hatefully. Manipulated him. Everything unpleasant. Every single one of them, even before all of this. But then Ryan wasn't like that, was she?

Give it time. Today, it was an exception. What about next time? What about when he really lost his shit? And it would happen. He just didn't know when.

Troy turned on his heel and went to the kitchen. After some light searching, he discovered that the moonshine had been put in a cupboard up top. He found a fork in one of the drawers and then twisted the lid off of the mason jar. His stomach growled in protest. The common rule that a person shouldn't drink on an empty stomach faintly crossed his mind, but this was eating, sort of. There was fruit inside, and hell, that meant this was even a healthy snack.

He took a bite. His nose wrinkled and he breathed in sharply through his nostrils. _Damn, this is really fucking strong_ , he thought. He chewed a couple times and then swallowed. He ate a couple more.

"Careful, you'll get yourself drunker than Grant."

Troy had polished off half the jar. Peaches floated around loosely. He looked up at Ryan. She stood in the doorway in new jeans and a t-shirt—well, clean clothes. He hadn't even heard the water shut off. His head spun some.

Ryan moved around the island counter and went into the pantry. Troy closed the jar and then hopped up to sit on the island. He watched as she looked at cans and boxes. Her brow pressed in seriously.

"You look angry a lot," Troy said.

Ryan snorted.

"Maybe I am angry a lot."

"Why?"

Ryan paused and turned her head to look at him.

"You are drunk." She chuckled softly.

"No."

"Fine, you're buzzed. Whatever. Still."

"Still?" Troy's head tilted to the side and he smirked playfully.

"You don't talk this much," she said.

She came from the pantry carrying green beans and a can of ravioli. After some searching, she found a manual can-opener and cranked it around the lid of the beans. The ravioli can had a pull tab. Flecks of sauce spattered the counter and her hands. She licked the sauce off her fingers and then held them both out to Troy.

He stared at them blankly.

"It's called food. People eat it to sustain energy," she said. Sarcasm dripped off each word and it made him grin even wider.

"Why are you feeding me? I can do it myself."

"If you could do it yourself then you would've done it before chowing down half a jar of moonshine. At least now you'll have something to puke up later," Ryan said as she turned to go back into the pantry. She came out with something for herself.

They talked some more, though Ryan kept herself at the counter across from him. She was watching the basement door as if more people would be coming out of the dark space. That and she was keeping her distance from him. Bad experience with drunks, Troy guessed. They talked about before, when the planet wasn't crawling with dead people. There wasn't much for Troy to say, but that didn't stop him from getting her to talk. She looked at him differently than before as they continued talking. She was amused. Then so was he. While his head spun, he felt relaxed. Almost content. He'd nearly forgotten about walkers a few times and then there were raspy groans and he remembered.

Then, sure enough, Troy puked a few hours later. He made it to the bathroom. While he gripped the porcelain bowl, she weeded through the medicine cabinets until she came across aspirin.

He'd passed out with his legs hanging half over the bed. Ryan set the aspirin aside with a glass of water. All of this used to be normal. Aspirin. Alcohol. Food. You could have them anytime you wanted. Now as rare luxuries, they would have to be rationed for emergencies.

Troy awoke with a start. It was dark out. His heart pounded in his chest and his head. Disregarding both, her rushed out of the room. Moans and groans echoed outside.

"Ryan!" He hissed.

There was no answer. She wasn't in any of the bedrooms. He bound down the stairs three at a time, the nastiest thoughts and images of her dead flashing through his mind. He ran out to the courtyard. The walkers they'd killed were still in the corner. There were only a few walkers at the gate. The pile of dead ones there had grown. She'd been coming out to trim the numbers. He went back inside and began searching the rooms, calling her name with a harsh whisper. Not in the kitchen or dining room. Not in the living room. He was going to kick her ass.

"Ryan!"

Troy came to a dead stop when he noticed a soft glow coming from one room. The door was cracked. Inside, the fireplace glowed with a low fire. The windows were blocked with heavy curtains. Curled up in one of the chair in front of the fireplace was Ryan. A book laid against her leg. She snored softly. Her head was crooked to the side with her cheek against the cushion.

Pulling the blanket draped off the back of the couch, he draped it over her, making sure her shoulders were covered. Then he moved to the couch and lay down. He cradled his arm under his head and stretched his legs out so that they hung off the arm of the couch.

For a long while, he just lay there and stared up at the faint orange shadows dancing across the ceiling. He didn't even realize he fell asleep.

When he woke up, the blanket he'd placed over Ryan was now over his waist. The fireplace was filled with nothing but ash. The sound of clinking and rummaging came from the kitchen.

Ryan was in the pantry sorting through the shelves. He noted her hair up in a ponytail and the new clothes she must've rummaged from the bedrooms. The well-worn plaid shirt she wore with the sleeves rolled up was large on her, the hem hanging well past her hips. Multiple bags laid everywhere in the room around her. Some were full of other necessities from around the house…manor…whatever.

"A vehicle would be simpler with all that we can carry back," Troy pointed out, not bothering with a good morning. Good mornings weren't real.

Ryan spun around, letting out a large breath.

"Actually, I went out this morning—"

"What?" Troy gritted out. "Are you stupid?"

Ryan kept going, not even acknowledging the hysterical look on his face, though she was amused at the octave his voice had climbed to.

"—And I found a carriage. I cleared the road out pretty good. Moving cars on the bridge will be difficult. So, whenever you're awake enough and you've had something to eat, we'll head out."

Troy's jaw was clenched. Why was she so infuriating? Oh, right, she didn't give a damn whether she became a mid-day snack. She chuckled softly.

"This is why Reed stopped traveling with me," she said. "It's also why Grant likes to travel with me. I get things done."

She could handle herself more often than not, sure. And she wasn't reckless. Never reckless. The world was reckless. Maneuvering in it just meant doing things you never thought you could, like live. And she was doing it. Living. He couldn't stop the feeling of it unnerving him.

Troy sighed, thinking, _Jesus fuck_. She acted just like him. There'd been so many times that he didn't care and was reckless with his decisions. Everyone was going to die at some point. He didn't act like that very much anymore. Troy reached up to touch the side of his head. Coming so close to death could make a person rethink. Why didn't it work on Ryan?

"I wasn't in any danger. You just worry your pretty head too much." She said it as if reading his mind. Then again, she'd probably told a lot of people that.

"You don't worry enough."

"You're right. I worry just enough to keep me moving from second to second."

She smiled and shook her head.

"We're all going to die someday. No point in fighting it, but there's no point in being stupid either," she said.

"Like me?" His gaze narrowed.

"You said it. Not me." She smirked. "Can we go now or do you want to keep complaining about being unable to keep up? This trip was your idea after all."

Troy fumed now, ready to quit worrying. She was a full-time job.

"Let's just get moving before I decide to leave you here," he said.

"You wouldn't." She grinned.

"I wouldn't?" His tone dropped flat.

"You need me," she said.

She didn't understand and neither did he about her being right. He did need her. Just not like he'd once needed Madison. He gritted his teeth, subconsciously reaching up and touching the soft spot of his temple. Bitch.

That split second silly sneer on her face washed away the memory of that woman. Dad always said the devil wore a woman's skin. Explained a lot about mom. Not a lot about Ryan. Or Sophie. Maybe the devil wasn't all bad.

After clearing out stragglers out in the street, while keeping a close eye out, the carriage was brought into the courtyard with both of their horses harnessed to the front. They huffed at the rank smell of the dead. Troy wasn't too fond of it either, but accustomed to it. That's how the world smelled now. He couldn't remember the last time he smelled something pleasant.

The carriage was actually nice. There was an extra wheel tack under the bottom. The entire thing looked fancy enough to carry a queen. They loaded it up and then left, not looking back once. The bridge was crowded. Ryan was uneasy as they watched for stragglers. What they did find were quick or tossed over the bridge. No hordes.

After the bridge, it was easy going. The city quickly disappeared and the bayou took over. Its groans were still unnerving. Luckily, they didn't get stuck. The grassy road the horses had carved out was solid as it led back to the Canopy.

Sophie and Tori were on the ground. All three chickens were running wild with Basil nipping at them. Both the young women came to greet them.

"Found more than you were expecting." Tori said. Her eyebrows were raised. She took one of the horse's and patted its neck. "I'll go get Reed, Kenny, and Grant. They're just over at the new branch."

Ryan hopped down from the carriage and disappeared with her bag. Sophie was hot on her heels.

Basil clambered over, moving so fast that she stumbling and face-planted, causing her tail to hit her in the face. Troy sighed. How the hell was this fireball still alive again?

She clawed up at his pant leg. He knelt down and nearly fell off balance as she jumped up on his knee.

"You're pathetic," he mumbled.

"Jus like ye sorry ass."

Grant and Reed came past the trees. Troy nudged the fox off. She settled in the grass away from the horses. Her bushy tail flopped side to side, thumping softly.

The lift was already on the ground. Getting everything up top took a few trips. Afterward, Troy let everyone else dig through. He went back to his place and lay down immediately. Basil followed and lay on her pillow. He looked over at her and could swear she was content.

"She paced the entire time you were gone. She nearly got kicked off of the edge of the pit at one point. Sophie and Trick kept to her," Reed said from the doorway.

Troy didn't to ask about who was tempted to do the kicking. It was obvious. It was Kenny.

"Hey, thanks." Reed said before taking off. "For taking care of Ryan."

"She takes care of herself."

"She does and she doesn't. Care."

"I noticed."

"You kept her alive."

Troy didn't see how he did that. He was drunk half the time and then asleep the other half. Well, except for the invaders. Remembering that, the knife at her throat, his jaw went taut. He should've checked the house first instead of assume it was empty.

"Yeah. She did most of the work."

Reed chuckled.

"She thinks she doesn't need anybody. Even before all of this she was like that. She was going to go to Princeton. Had gotten early acceptance. The girl is intelligent. Far more than me or anybody here. Because of her heart, she didn't get to go. Then because of this…god," Reed rolled his eyes. "It's stupid to say apocalypse, but damn, that's what this is, right? World-ending."

Troy thought about it.

"If it was truly world-ending then I don't think any of us would be here. It's just changing. Adapting. The whole only-the-strong-survive," Troy replied.

Reed stared at him, wide-eyed and nervous.

"No wonder you two get along. You're so damn scary when you're smart. She's extremely theoretical and philosophical." Reed shuddered. "It's very fucking creepy."

Troy said nothing because he was stunned. Smart was something he'd never been called.

"Get some rest. You've earned it. You're no longer the guest. Officially a traveler," Reed said.

Troy didn't feel any guilt about not mentioning the people he'd killed. He felt pretty sure that Reed would've been okay with it. Honestly, he didn't want to talk about it or think about it. That moment, he felt a fear that he'd never felt. If that man had killed her, he would've lost…whatever he had. She didn't deserve to be dead. Not at his expense.

He fell asleep after a while. It was dark when he woke up. The pit was still embering when he wandered around. The night was quiet. Surprisingly, he felt rested. Well, more rested than normal.

"Look who it is. Rising from the dead." Kenny said. He grinned.

Before Troy could say anything, there was a shout. He was glad. He wasn't sure what he was going to say.

"Don't move!" It was Flint.

Troy was getting used to everyone, remembering their names. Getting comfortable.

Both men went rigid and then hurried to the bridge that Flint shouted from. Flint and Tori had their rifles up. Other watchers set up on the outer bridges close by, their weapons also up. Half of them only had a couple shots so whatever they saw moving out there better not have been very big.

"What's down there?" Kenny asked.

"I don't know. It's not a walker though. They sound different. The whole shuffling and groaning. The animals would go crazy, too.," Flint replied.

"Whoever's there, show yourselves!" Kenny shouted.

Troy cocked an eyebrow at how ridiculous that was. It was pitch black tonight. No moon. No stars. No light. That was an advantage for them too, though. They couldn't see who or what was down there and neither could whatever was down there.

Guns cocked, clicking loudly.

"Don't shoot! There's only two of us! Please!"

"We mean no harm!"

Troy's heart constricted and ugly visions of the ranch came back to him. He didn't know the first voice, but the second was all too recognizable. And female. His hand tightened around the railing.

"What's happening?" Troy jumped at Ryan suddenly being at his side so suddenly. Her eyes were trained on the darkness, searching it.

"Bad things," Troy mumbled.

"We saw a trail and just followed it." The female voice was the one who spoke. "We were just looking for a spot to camp and didn't realize…"

"Bullshit," Troy gritted out.

Kenny looked at him now.

Troy backed away and stormed toward the lift, nearly knocking Sophie down in the process. Ryan was right behind him with her small, but heavy footfalls.

"You can't go down there. You don't even know these people. They could be psycho."

Trick was at the lift. He didn't say anything, but started the lift after Troy stepped on. Ryan quickly jumped on before it was too far down to jump. The entire platform shook.

"What's going on?"

"Just stay behind me okay?" Troy's mind was working overtime, as he thought about different defensive maneuvers. Ryan touched his arm right then and he jumped clear out of his skin, almost falling off of the platform.

"Are you okay? You're breathing really fast. Are you having a panic attack?" Ryan didn't let go of his arm and held him steadfast once they reached the ground. "You know these people."

"I know…" he shook his head. "I know one of them."

"Oh god," Ryan breathed. She unsheathed her short sword. "I've got your back."

Troy would've scoffed if he wasn't so freaked. He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he came face to face with these people. He took out his knife. He wasn't going to be off-guard.

"Don't move," Troy snapped as he stepped into the dark. He could just make out the shadows of the two people and as he got closer he could see more.

"We're not," the man said. His voice shook.

Troy swallowed hard.

"We'll turn around and go. We're not looking to get killed."

"We're not turning back," the girl spoke quick and tersely. "We're not unfriendly. We can be useful. Help out. We just need somewhere to stay."

"Turn around and go."

"N-" The girl started but then stopped. Silence ballooned between Troy, Ryan and the dark strangers. "Wait…"

Troy heard the quiet sound of metal cutting through air the way a knife spins free. His grip on the hilt of his knife tightened.

"Oh god." The voice turned dark and grave, like he'd heard before. The distrust and disdain still laced through it too. "Troy?"

Stepping closer, it was still dark, but he could make out their features. The man was black and nearly blending in with the night. Facial hair ran along his jaws and around. He looked drained, exhausted, and deprived. He wasn't hostile like the girl he was with. She was pale, her facial features hollow, nearly skeletal with how sharp her cheekbones were. Her hair was up in a ponytail and her stare dangerous, just like her mother's. Both of them looked worse than any homeless person. The wild and desperate look in their eyes was a familiar one.

"Alicia."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You're alive." Troy's words were thick and masked with nonchalance, though it was obvious that he uncomfortable. More than that even.

"Very." The one word was sharp enough to slit a person's throat. Her grey-eyed, unblinking stare was even sharper. Seemed like she'd lash out any second. Each of them were including Ryan.

Alicia's butterfly knife was pointed at Troy while his was just at his side. Alicia looked past him at Ryan and she scoffed.

"You have no idea how much more dangerous he is than we are," she said to her.

"Don't speak to her," Troy growled.

"It was all your fault," Alicia spat.

While the others were confused by that, he wasn't. The Ranch. That's what she was meaning. And she wasn't wrong. He still had nightmares about it from time to time. That's when he slept, which was little. But, he was here though, not there. And—

"I'm not that person anymore," he told her. He placed his knife back in its place at his hip to prove it. That was what he'd been told several times by everyone here. Whether it was true or not was still up in the air. Saying out loud, he hoped it was true, but it sounded fake.

Alicia didn't move. She only seemed to tense even more.

"I thought you were dead." She said it like her hopes had been dashed. Ryan was beginning to dislike her.

"So did I," he replied after a moment.

"You know each other?" Ryan said. Her sword was still poised.

"Something like that," Troy said.

"Something…" Alicia echoed. Her eyes darkened with an even more intense glare.

"Is everything okay down there?!" Tuck shouted from up in the Canopy.

Troy looked at Alicia for the answer.

"We've been wandering for days," The black man said.

"This is Strand," Alicia provided.

Troy remembered him. They didn't say much to each other the last time they met. The dam.

"If we could just stay the night, we'll leave at daybreak," Strand continued, sounding completely diplomatic.

Now Ryan looked at Troy. All three of them were waiting for him to answer. He had control right now. He still waited on Alicia, though. She swung her blade closed and he noticed that she did it pretty quick. She'd gotten better with the knife and he certainly didn't want to be on the sharp end.

"Can't have you attracting walkers from the bayou. We have animals," Troy mumbled.

Troy nodded for them to follow and they all shuffled onto the lift. It creaked and wobbled under the weight, but hauled them up.

"How did you get into Louisiana?" Troy asked, struggling to keep his voice even. How he got here was still a complete mystery.

"The dam broke. Everyone got separated. We walked and ended up here," Alicia answered, concise and with no interest in talking in depth.

Once at the top, Troy quickly got off of the lift and stalked off toward his spot, needing to get away as soon as possible. He crossed the bridge that others had been on. Flint, Kenny, and Tuck were still standing there. Troy paused briefly.

"Just keep an eye on them," he said to Tuck. Then Troy walked off.

Once in his room, he paced. It took only four steps to get across the room and four back, but still. He wasn't sleeping tonight. He wasn't sure he'd be sleeping ever again. His past wasn't as gone as he thought.

"We can make them leave."

Troy stopped. Ryan came into the room.

"No. It's okay. It's just—" Troy shook his head and reached up, taking his hair into his hands, pulling at it. This was one hell of a trigger. "I'll go. In the morning."

"What? Are they that bad? I'm going to talk to Tuck. They're not staying." Ryan turned to go.

Troy's arm struck out fast, grabbing her and spinning.

"They're not bad." His pale eyes bored into her. "I am."

"Troy, no—"

"Don't be stupid. You know…"

Troy shook. Then, looking down, he saw how tight he held onto her arms. Her pulse was fast, beating against his palms. He let go quickly and stepped backwards. What would he have done, holding on so tight like that? Nothing. He was just that scared.

"I can't be here. You heard her. It was my fault."

Ryan set aside her short sword and then stepped forward, and touched his arm. The touch was cool to the touch for the briefest second. Troy swallowed hard and closed his eyes, and all he could see was flashes of everything he'd done. He shook harder.

"Hey, hey. Look at me. Come back. That's not you," she said quietly and soft.

Troy breathed in through his nose. That was him. He'd led a massive horde to The Ranch. He'd killed people for his father. And for Madison. He got his brother killed.

"Isn't it?" His voice trembled dangerously. He grabbed her roughly and shoved her back. His fear shifted into fury. He wrecked everything because he was fucked up. Seeing Alicia just reminded him of that. He didn't change. It was all just a matter of time before he picked up where he left off.

"No. You left that place. You're here now. Right here," she assured him, not backing down. "If you're as bad as you think you are, you could've let those crazy psychos back in the city kill me. Better yet, you could've done god-knows-what that one night you cornered me. You didn't. You've helped everyone here. Sophie adores you. She calls you her favorite tree. Trick's claimed you as his best friend. My brother trusts you. You've made an impact here. Albeit you're cranky, but who isn't these days. You survive just like the rest of us. So, if you've been looking for some sort of redemption or forgiveness with this second chance you've been given then fine. You're forgiven, Troy."

Forgiven.

Strange word.

Was that what he was?

All of the violent anger that flared within him suddenly deflated. He nodded numbly.

"You are not that sick person anymore. Hell, we're all doing things we never thought we'd be capable of."

"You don't understand what I think sometimes…" he muttered.

"We all have dark thoughts. It's a dark time," she said. "You have people to lean on. Lean on us."

"I don't want to…" he paused. What didn't he want? "I don't want to lose control again."

"You won't or I'll stick you like a Voodoo doll."

He smiled at that even though she was serious and meant it. It was oddly comforting. She took his hand and tugged.

"Come on. You need sleep."

He shook his head, exhaling finally.

"I don't think that's happening until Alicia and Strand get sorted. Go ahead and let them stick around. They may leave on their own."

"But you won't," Ryan said. Troy sat on the cot. She looked at him, scared, not of him, but for him. It dawned on him, she didn't want him to be alone. She'd never wanted him to be alone because like him, she didn't want to see that ugly side of him re-emerge. She'd only been around because she'd seen just a shadow of who he'd been. It was nothing compared to who he could actually become and she really didn't want to see it.

The unstable, controlling murderer. It was still there. Seeing Alicia confirmed it because the second he saw her he retreated so fast, knowing and feeling how it easy it would to lash out and stab her in the throat just like he should've done to her mother. The lump in his throat was sharp. Mixing with the bile threatening to rise up, he nearly puked. He couldn't keep fighting the monster of who he once was.

As soon as he laid back, she joined him. There was light talking that could be heard from the pit. Alicia sounded hotheaded while Strand was trying to be reasonable. Troy closed his eyes, breathing as steadily as he could.

"Don't worry so much, Jack. I'll protect you," Ryan mumbled sleepily.

He slept soundlessly, but not restfully all night.

"—I think of myself as pretty accepting of new people, which is an unusual expectation these days, but you're not new people. Not to him. In fact, he's ready to run because you have him scared shitless. So, here's how it's going to go." Troy woke alone, but stopped at his doorway, overhearing Ryan's sharp tongue. "I don't care where the three of you came from and I don't want to know. He's been struggling enough to get past that whole nightmare. He's been through enough and he's done more than you know around here, so he has our respect. You don't. If you plan on sticking around, he doesn't need you reminding him of it. It's past. Over. He got a second chance and you're not fucking that up by triggering him. You do and I'll slit your throat in your sleep, because I don't need that unstable-psycho bullshit."

A dull ball of anger, sparked with an electric current of surprise at her saying that, rolled in his gut. He didn't need to be defended by a woman. Yet, at the same time he'd never had anybody like that on his side. It left him in foreign territory. A dangerous place.

"You have no idea who he is," Alicia said.

"I do though. It's you who doesn't realize it. That place is hundreds of miles away. It's gone. A majority of the memories along with it. All that seems to be left is residual," Ryan said.

"And if he loses it are you going to kill him?"

"I don't think that far ahead because a lot of different things could happen. If I thought about all of that right now, constantly, then I'd kill myself." The dry laughter in her voice at that was unnerving. "You need to give humanity a chance every once in a while, or else the world will never bounce back."

"He is a mass murderer."

"And was that before or after you and your family manipulated him beyond recognition and his family fucked him over? I hear your mom butchered his dad, though the racist bastard deserved it. She's also the one who dented his head in. I get a feeling she's quite the Sharon Stone."

Alicia didn't say anything, but her jaw was taut with anger.

"Everybody is fucked up. Just have work with what you got," Ryan finished.

"And your excuse? Too much empathy?" Alicia tried to joke, but it came across more sarcastic than anything. That was something.

"I'm wearing a suicidal heart."

Silence. Words weren't needed to understand what she meant. She was reckless and could care less.

Troy leaned against the wall. Basil trotted in and stared up at him, her head cocking to the side.

"Be careful," he said to her. She just tilted her head to the other side.

"Sometimes it's the place, not the person," Ryan said. More silence. "Then again, maybe it's the person who fucks with another person. Regardless, people suck."

"I can't trust him."

"Fine. Don't. But don't stir up shit that doesn't need stirred. Again, that place is gone. I don't want to hear about it and neither does he. He's having enough trouble staying lucid from it. And if you try anything—"

"You'll slit my throat. Got it," Alicia finished. She didn't sound pissed. She barely sounded like herself at all, like him. "I'll just have to be on my guard."

He heard the bridge dip and foot clomps as they walked away. Troy thought about what they said. Ryan wasn't really defending him. He remembered the look of fear in her eyes when he'd contemplated hurting her that one night. She was protecting herself. And Reed. If he lost whatever stability he gained here then everyone was in danger. He knew that. It was why he volunteered to get the hell out of here.

When he finally got the courage to leave the room, he went over to the pit. Tuck, Grant and Strand were talking. Seeing him clearer in the daylight, the man was familiar, but not entirely. Just his face. He seemed to have a decent head on his shoulders. He was proper. Straightforward. Like Tuck, he was smart and clever.

Troy was surprised what he noticed just by observing. Tuck was so welcoming, just like he was with him. Troy discovered right then that it wasn't that these people were weak because they accepted everyone who walked in here, it was that they were strong for accepting people even though they could be messed up. They found power in numbers, in creating a community that believed more in people rather than this damned planet.

Idiots. In the face of panic, people killed people. Self-preservation. It was an instinct that was built in, and no matter how deep it was buried down inside of people it would still came to the surface amid fear. He'd seen if firsthand.

He moved to the lift, and he, Basil, and Trick went to the ground. He needed to clear his head and Trick offered to walk the perimeter. Troy headed down to the lake side.

The traps had been checked already. Basil trotted in and out of the water, jumping around after a toad. While she pounced with utter joy, Troy watched the water and the tree lines. Being on edge, he knew that's what kept him alive. Lack of that watchfulness is what nearly got Ryan killed.

"What could you be thinking about? Maybe those hot nights when Ry comes around?"

Troy clenched his jaw. Kenny.

"No." Troy grinned at that. The times Ryan visited at night had never crossed his mind much at all. It felt too common that she would find him, searching for a sense of peace. As if he had any to offer. Odd, too. But, Kenny being so jealous of something that Troy could never imagine for himself was of hysterical proportions. "Not much to think about. Or talk about."

Kenny's face turned an ungodly shade of red as he gritted his teeth. It was satisfying.

"Rumor has it, you're not all there." Kenny took a dangerous step forward. "Makes me a little worried. I don't exactly want the people I care about ending up dead from a rampage by a lunatic."

Troy's eyebrows flicked upward once. He was the lunatic?

"So your sudden worry about everyone isn't because you're obsessed with her?" Troy continued before Kenny could keep going. "And you might want to be careful with those kinds of feelings. I can tell you from personal experience, they'll take over, and then none of them will have to worry about me. They'll have to worry about you."

"Oh, yeah?" Kenny fumed.

Troy, still unfazed, nodded.

"Yeah. It'll get so dark that you won't be able to see."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kenny scowled. He was already craning his head back to look up at Troy.

Troy smirked.

"I wouldn't lose sleep," he said.

"I bet."

The voice in Troy's head kept telling him how easy it would be to drag him to the water, press his head under the murky water and drown him. He wouldn't feel anything either. No guilt or satisfaction. The asshole would just be dead. His fists clenched tightly, whitening his knuckles and numbing his hands with a tingling sensation.

"See you around." Kenny grinned like a jokester. There was no glint of a joke in his eyes.

Basil was crouched low and growling at him as he walked off. After he was gone, she padded her feet into the ground and then sat, with her fluffy tail settling next her. She was as disgruntled as Troy.

"That guy is a real dick."

Troy turned. Alicia stood a few feet off. Her arms were crossed.

"He is," Troy agreed.

"What are you thinking?"

His gaze narrowed on her. What did she hope to gain from this attempt at civil conversation?

Troy shook his head. He'd be damned if he had anything to say to her. Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he gave a short whistle down to Basil, and they walked off.

Alicia's grassy footfalls followed behind him.

"So, what? You don't talk anymore?"

"No, not really," Troy replied.

"Why's that? The voices too loud in there?"

Troy stopped. His eyebrows scrunched downward with frustration.

"Answer me this," he turned to look at her. Her hair was longer than the last time he'd seen her. She looked older with the dark circles under her sunken eyes and from how thin and sharp her cheeks became. She stiffened. The butterfly knife he'd become familiar with at one point was tight in her hand, waiting to fly open. "Would it matter if I apologized. Begged for forgiveness at your feet for the way your mother manipulated my father, me, and the way you manipulated my brother? Hm? What about how I raised my home to the ground after your bitch of a mom tossed me to the curb after convincing me I was doing right by that place and by my people. Hm? And, when I befriended your brother, who by the way came off rather suicidal with his nightly walker-walks? Tell me Alicia, what can _I_ do to please you and your sensitive soul because I'm _dying_ to know."

"Fuck you." She fumed furiously.

She stormed off past him, childishly jutting her shoulder against him to try and hurt him. He watched after her with a flattened expression. There was a pull at the one corner of his lips. A smirk.

That got her to go away, he thought. He chuckled. Just bring up good old mom and she'll take off running.

"She's a ray of sunshine." Reed said. He was watching after her hot trail, his eyebrows arched with curiosity.

"She's…something," Troy said. "She'll get you killed. It's what she does and she won't care because you're not blood. Then again, I do it, too, and I don't care if you're blood or not."

Reed snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I need your help with the watch tonight. That alright?"

"Sure. I don't sleep much anyway," Troy replied.

"Good!"

Troy smirked. Reed turned, still watching Alicia's trail with much interest.

"Trust me. Don't." Troy warned, knowing what he was already thinking.

Reed nodded, but Troy knew he wasn't hearing a word. Not really. Troy wasn't comfortable with Reed seeking out a death wish like this. But, he gave a warning. That was that. What else was expected of him? He didn't care about Reed. The guy was honest and kind, along with other qualities that would naturally shine in the world, just not this one. In this one, you'd turn up dead and mostly at the hands of people, not the walking dead. He hated admitting it, even to himself, that he knew what it felt like. It was painful.

Troy reached up and ran his fingers over his temple. The muscle was firmer and barely hurt. The curvature was deeper than normal, but still, he was alive.

He and Reed headed toward the lift with Basil on their heels.

* * *

The pit was alive with more chatter than Troy could remember ever hearing. People were on the edge of actual joy. This put him on edge. Worse, Ryan saw it and Basil knew it.

Basil was curled up around his feet as usual, but her ears were tucked back with anxiety. Troy's eyes darted around.

"You know, men would kill to have a woman at their feet like that," Ryan joked, taking the spot on the risen bench behind him.

Troy looked down at Basil. Her ears were always up. She glanced up at him with her big brown eyes that had flecks of orange. Her tail swished.

"No woman needs to wrap herself around my feet," he mumbled. "This one is just defective."

Ryan snorted.

"She's something, but defective isn't it. You took care of her." Ryan shrugged and then slapped her hand down on his shoulder. "You're not totally evil incarnate."

"Right. That's why I feel the daggers being thrown at me right now?" He laughed. His eyes flicked to Alicia where she was sitting with Strand, Reed, and Tuck across the pit.

"She doesn't like me either. I like Strand, though. He's adaptable. That's good. He and Grant could compete to see who drinks the most."

Troy turned. Basil got up and trotted off toward Grant, knowing he'd give her some of hs food. She was spoiled.

"Alicia will live. It turns out you're not the only one with ghosts." Ryan added. "You just happen to be one of them for her."

"Is it fucked up that I'm glad?"

The corners of Ryan's lips turned up into one of the biggest grins he'd ever seen.

"No. That just makes you a dick."

"I can live with that." He grinned back.

Ryan laughed. The sound was soft and like rain. Refreshing. She shook her head.

The evening was a blend of rose pink, soft purple and tinges of denim blue with the last streaks of fiery orange. It was beautiful. The flames of the pit licked the sky, sending embers sailing upwards. This would be a great camping experience if not for the ultimate reason they were up here.

After the stars peaked out, people drifted away. Traipsing across the bridges, the wood planks bowing under his feet, he could hear the whispers in the dark. Some groans could easily be mistaken for those of walkers. Troy rolled his eyes. There wasn't much else to do at night…well, except for going to the library. Aside from the remaining embers of the pit, the library was the only spot aglow. He could make out Sophie and Ryan's shadow. He couldn't make out who the other person was in there.

Ryan prized that damn room. She was probably reading one of the books she'd gotten from the house during their trip. He could hear her all over again, talking to him as they lay down on the bed during that small break from the world. Her sleepy voice was speaking in his ear.

Troy turned leaned against the rope banister. The automatic rifle hanging on his shoulder slipped, the hilt hitting his hip. The clip was half full. He'd looked over the weapon stash earlier today. They barely had anything aside from their pointy objects and that wasn't helpful up here.

Stars overhead blinked down on all of them, watching them in the darkness as if waiting for something. A breeze blew through the trees, ruffling the leaves. They shook and Troy enjoyed that sound. It was soothing. He breathed in deeply, his chest filling.

"I'm telling you, this isn't right."

"Why!? You think we can't do it?"

Troy looked down at the ground.

"No, I just think you haven't thought it through all the way. You need Reed or Ryan backing you on this. Everyone trusts them."

Troy's head cocked to the side to hear better. The people talking on the ground continued. One of them was Kenny. Troy couldn't place the woman.

"I've thought it through plenty. Tuck isn't thinking. That's the problem. He's letting in complete strangers."

"You were a complete stranger at one point."

" _Please._ "

"You're right, though. Tuck is too trusting."

The voices faded. Troy frowned. Too trusting? Hm.

Troy stalked off to what Trick deemed the Med-Bay, though it wasn't much of one. There were two cots, one of which still had a remnant blood stain from Ryan's head. There was a trunk and also the first-aid kit that he'd brought back. Trick and Tuck were talking amongst themselves.

"Oh, look who's graced us with holy presence." Trick grinned.

Troy rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Is something on your mind?" Tuck asked.

"Yeah," Troy said. "There might be a problem, but I'm not sure."

And he wasn't. Sure, that is. It's why he wanted to talk about it because every piece of him wanted to act. By acting, he'd end up tearing through nearly every person here to find the person looking to tear down this place. And if it was bloody, well, he didn't care. Sacrifice the few for the many, right? It's what he's always known, even back on the ranch. This time was different. This time he wasn't doing it to be spiteful or out of some sort of pleasure. He was actually afraid. The Canopy was a good place with some decent people.

That's why he had to speak.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

**A brand new chapters for anyone who may be biting for more. ;)**

* * *

Chapter 7

"What is it?" Tuck's expression grew grave.

Troy hesitated. It wasn't because he didn't want to say anything. Kenny was a prick. Troy was just debating whether he wanted to go back, drag him into the dark shadows and get rid of him himself. He could think of a few techniques that would do it without doing it too fast. How many people would object though?

Troy told Tuck. He struggled at keeping his voice even because as he was speaking he was realizing how not so different Kenny was from him. That was sickening. He might as well be a walker, rotting from the inside out. Today, he wasn't feeling that. Not at all.

"I think there are a few people unhappy with the strangers that have been taken in. I overheard a conversation, and I'm sure they want to be rid of any new additions," Troy said.

Things changed for him, and sure he was still foggy on some parts, but Alicia made sure to clear it up for him with nothing but sheer hatred. He earned it and it haunted every time he closed his eyes. Right now, he was feeling that person she knew, one he thought died, scratching at his temple. He rubbed his fingers over the spot and shuddered. Ryan's words still lingered like an echo. He wasn't that person anymore she said. God, how could she think that? Maybe he wasn't the only who lost his fucking mind. After all, she did tell him how she wanted to claw her own chest out while begging for death.

Troy was torn. How unpleasant. Could one be resigned while killing a person? He wanted to be that resigned person that didn't have to make decisions or feel burdened. But, here was a fucking problem and he felt burdened.

The insinuation that one of these people was Kenny wasn't lost on the man.

Tuck's cheeks hollowed and he bit into the side of one and his sense of concentration deepened, underlined with an anger that scared Troy. It was silent and deafening, just like when his father right before lashing out at him.

Well, they won't kill Kenny. Troy knew that. Fine. They could have their way. He was resigned, remember? Leading a life where he didn't have to worry about things like this. They'd choose exile. That's how they worked here. He knew exactly how that went. It didn't do much good. So, the next time he saw Kenny, he'd kill him. The thought made Troy smirk secretly. That was a promise he could keep and would keep.

"I'm not surprised. Sounds like Kenny," Tuck said.

Trick nodded in agreement. His frame had gone rigid and all of the joking that came naturally vanished.

"I didn't want to point it out, but—" Troy started, but was cut off.

"How do I know?" Tuck said. Troy nodded. "Because he's complained about it so many goddamn times. He thinks he can lead this group as if it's some military camp. The way he's been acting lately…he's been acting reckless, putting the group in danger."

Tuck shook his head. Exhaustion clouded his eyes. Tuck went on.

"We're all just trying to survive so that we can live again."

Troy swallowed the sharp lump in his throat. The dry taste at the back of his throat was familiar.

"I, uh," Troy paused. "I can take care of him."

Tuck and Trick shared a look, but not of horror like Troy half expected. They were seriously contemplating it. Troy's heart pounded in his chest, turning his nerves raw. But, as he expected…

"No," Tuck said in the end. "Killing is a last resort and even if it came to that, Troy, you wouldn't be the one forced to do it. Okay?"

Troy nodded. That was something he'd never heard before. It overwhelmed him a little just like how Ryan told he was forgiven. These people were either idiots or truly good people.

"We need to boot that moron's ass. Send him packing," Trick snarled.

Troy had never heard him this angry before. It surprised him.

"Yes," Tuck nodded. "You're right. I know just the person who wants to do it."

* * *

The sky was overcast with patches of black storm clouds in the distance. There was going to be heavy rain today, enough to shake the tree tops. It was nothing they hadn't faced before. Tuck and Trick had already been advising everybody to pin down everything they could. If it drew too close they'd all be heading to the ground. Thank god it didn't look like a hurricane forming.

Ryan along with a few others stood in a semi-circle, enclosing Kenny. Troy stood off to the side. He wasn't going to miss this.

"What the fuck…" Kenny growled. His angry eyes darted to every person around him, like a tiger surrounded by a lot of people.

"Time to go, babe," Ryan said. Her eyes were glowing with joy. "Pack your shit. You're done here."

"What the hell did I do, huh? Except make this place better I mean." He took a couple steps toward him. "Aside from helping keep this community going?"

"Oh, you mean scheming behind everyone's backs like a snake? How about being a complete skeeze?" Ryan scowled.

"Screw you, bitch."

Troy's jaw twitched involuntary.

"Been there. Didn't get that far," she replied blandly with a shrug like it was nothing to her, much like everything else.

His face shaded a hideous shade of red. He advanced, fast and fierce, his hand shooting up to her throat. His hand nearly went all the way around. Before he could squeeze her windpipe, he was pulled off by both Troy and Grant.

"I was trying to help!" he shouted.

"By wanting to kill people?! We should be increasing our numbers, not trying to deplete them!" Ryan shouted. She stepped toward him now. Her eyes filled with rage. "This isn't some concentration camp."

Kenny snorted at the exaggeration then laughed. It was dark and sent a shiver down Troy's spine that caused him to straighten.

"Remember Trent?"

Ryan's eyes glittered with tears suddenly.

"It wasn't the bayou that got him." Kenny grinned. It was evil and she shook. Troy's stomach twisted sickly at seeing it. The gleam in Kenny's eyes grew crazy and Troy knew it so well because he'd had that look, felt it in his bones, as if he had no control of his own mind and body. It was so unsettling to see this from the outside. This really was him.

"How many?" Troy asked, his tone grave.

Kenny turned his head. His eyebrows flicked up once, intrigued with the question.

"You were next. Then that bitch showed up with a friend." His head tilted and he eyed Alicia. Her butterfly knife whipped open, cutting through the air.

"How many!?" Troy's voice boomed.

"I really haven't kept count. It just became so easy to say a walker got them." Kenny looked up at the sky. "fourteen…give or take."

A deep laugh bubbled up out of him. It was one of those ones that rise from deep in your belly.

"We can't afford to overpopulate," he said. "Survival of the fittest."

He said it as if it made complete sense.

"I'm doing the hard job. I didn't really want to kill anyone, but we have to think about the big picture!" He laughed again. "Actually, that's a lie. I do want to kill one person."

A heated glare bored into Troy, but it didn't make Troy back down.

"You asshole," Grant seethed.

"Oh, please. Don't act so righteous, you wasted, Irish hick. This isn't the world we knew. This is better. No rules. No laws. Just you against the world."

Then Kenny broke free by jutting his head into Grant's face, breaking the Irishman's nose. Blood gushed down his front. Kenny swung out wildly at Troy. Troy ducked and tackled him, shoving him right over the side of the ledge, sending him crashing to the ground. Kenny landed with a heavy thud on the grass. Troy held his breath. It had happened so fast. He didn't even think. He never did when it came to taking a life.

Kenny's chest moved up and down. Troy was surprised as he breathed easy. Kenny as still alive.

"Don't come back, Ken. Or I will kill you," Ryan shouted down at him.

Kenny groaned in response, rolling on to his side.

"That was impressive by the way, the way you threw him off the side like that," Ryan said to him. "Fucking psycho."

He knew that was at Kenny.

"Trust me, that was me showing restraint," Troy said low.

"I know," Ryan said, smiling. "Thanks. You just saved people, including her."

Her head side nodded at Alicia who stared around wildly confused. Troy smirked. Ryan walked off, muttering to herself.

Alicia stopped next him and stared down.

"That was…" she paused. "Interesting. Too bad you didn't go with him."

She walked off.

Troy released a deep breath that had made his chest ache. Of course, Alicia wasn't happy. Of course, she was still bitchy about old wounds. Damn.

He looked back over the ledge. Kenny was gone. A rotten feeling settled over him.

The night was quiet except for the wind whipping through the trees, making the leaves rustle. The heavy rains missed them. Luck was what Trick called it.

That evening, Troy couldn't sleep. He wasn't the only one either. Basil's nails clacked on the wooden floor. The two of them wandered across the bridges. The pit was awake with people that also couldn't sleep. The library, too, which is where he went.

Three others were crowded into the dimly lit room comfortably. Sophie sat on the floor. Ryan in a chair. And Shay near the window.

"Nobody's sleeping," he commented.

"Can't blame them," Ryan replied, her voice bland. She didn't look up at him, too focused on her book.

Troy nodded as he scanned the shelves. His fingers dragged across the old, cracked and broken up spines. He stopped at a white spine. _1984_.

"Have to admire that while technology died after this books did not," Troy commented.

At that, Ryan looked up over top of her book at him. The gaze was thoughtful and curious. He didn't linger too long on it since looks like that twisted into ones of betrayal with him. He pulled the book from its spot and left the girls to their reading, though he felt Ryan watching him.

Sure, he thought about saying something. Well, he wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, so he didn't.

He and Basil wandered back to his room. Basil climbed up onto the cot and snuggled next to his side as he began reading. Her fur prickled and it was too hot for her to be burrowing, but he let her.

He didn't get very far. Halfway through the first paragraph there was shouting. Basil growled, her ears bending back. Troy shot up. Tossing the book back, he ran out onto the balcony.

Across the bridge, he saw Strand. The man shared the same look of alertness and worry, trying to figure out what to do.

Rushing forward, Troy hurried to the pit and Strand followed right behind him. Tori held up one of the automatics. Anybody who tried to step closer would have the gun aimed at them next. Didn't stop Troy from circling around, slowly getting closer. Getting shot didn't particularly worry him, especially since he knew she wouldn't pull the trigger. She was shaky and breathing unevenly. She didn't have it in her to shoot someone.

"Son of a bitch."

Ryan and Sophie were making their way toward them. Their movements were stiff and uncomfortable. The seemingly permanent look of distaste on Ryan's face was now boiling rage and calm. Two things that were very scary in a woman. Sophie bore a blank, blanched look. Something of horror.

Kenny was right behind them with his own weapon, a pistol. Reed's pistol. Another person of the camp, Troy couldn't remember the guy's name, was with them.

Reed moved to run at Kenny, but Troy pulled him back quick.

"Careful, Reed. You'll take a tumble just like Lindsey did tonight and she wasn't looking too good when she landed ungracefully," Kenny said.

"Kenny," Ryan barked. "Enough. You don't have to do this."

He grinned. It was horrifying with how the fire flickered across it. Reaching down, he picked up a lantern with his free hand.

"You're right." Kenny said. He tossed the lantern backwards as his other arm rose up, pistol in his hand and pulled the trigger as the room that Troy had helped Reed build went up in flames. A loud bang rang out, cutting through the night.

The silence nearly made Troy deaf. So short, but it felt like it would go on forever. Then the hysterics broke out and everything was a blur as it came from all around Troy, making him feel suddenly claustrophobic. He didn't do small spaces in any form.

"TUCK!"

"NO!"

"You son of a bitch!"

Shouts and screams of terror rose into the night sky.

"The fire!"

"It's all burning!"

"The fire is spreading!"

Troy watched as everything he knew, everything he'd become used to that had given him a second chance came down around him. Ryan fell to her knees next to Tuck. She held his head in her lap while blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. Grant and two others chased after Kenny. Reed, Trick, Sophie and others ran at the fire to try a put it out.

"We need water!" Reed shouted.

Kenny threw the three men back, causing one of them to fall over the edge of the landing. The man landed with a sickening thud on the ground. He didn't get up.

Troy spun around, trying to gain bearings of his surroundings. This wasn't some nightmare he was going to wake up from.

This place was going to burn.

"You're coming with me," Kenny hissed, grabbing Ryan by the hair roughly and holding her up as his shield.

"Let me go!" She screamed. She gave a good yank to try and get away, but he had her good. He knocked her upside the head with the butt of his gun to be sure.

Troy sprang into action at the sound. It clicked his brain into high gear. He couldn't stand by and watch these people die, not like he'd done before. His fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"You're dead," Troy told Kenny. Basil yipped and growled next to him.

Grant jumped back up onto his feet next to him.

"Yeah?" Kenny cackled. He pointed the gun in his hand at him first and then at Basil. Troy glared. This man liked to go after only those he thought were weaker than him. He smirked right then because he picked the wrong person to hold hostage.

Ryan's elbow came up and nailed Kenny in the nose, breaking it. Blood gushed all over him. She hurried over to where Troy stood. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. Kenny wobbled dizzily, waving his gun. Troy handed her off to Shay and moved on him with Grant.

"Let this motherfuckin' place burn!" Kenny shouted, choking on blood that got in his mouth. He aimed at Troy.

With one hard kick to the chest, Troy sent Kenny down below. The smoke had thickened, choking him and this whole place.

The fire had gotten worse and was spreading into the canopy and across the bridges. Troy's heart raced in his chest. He looked back. Ryan had knelt down next to Tuck. He was dying. She needed to do what needed done, but she was crying. She couldn't cry right now. There was no time.

"This place is going to burn," Troy muttered. He turned to Grant.

"Get Reed and Trick out of here. This place is gone and it won't be long before it crashes to the ground." Troy shouted over the roar of the flames.

Grant was sweating profusely. He coughed.

"What about ye?" Grant said, covering his face with his arm. His voice was hoarse.

"I'm going to get Ryan and the others down on the pulley before it snaps."

Grant hurried across the bridge and started pulling Reed back. He was fighting him though, determined to save this place. Troy thought about stepping in to help, but decided against it. Grant could handle him.

Troy turned and grabbed Ryan by the shoulders.

"Time to go," he said to her. He handed her off to Shay like she was a mere object.

"But we have to help Tuck," she argued. Her cheeks were streaked from tears and her hands smeared with Tuck's blood.

"He's gone. Get out. Go!" Troy shouted, pointing over her head for her to get out. They couldn't grieve right now. If they did then they died.

Ryan shook her head, her eyes wide with terror. She hadn't let go of his arm and now gripped it even tighter, her nails piercing the skin.

"What about you?" Her eyes darted to the growing blaze and then back. The flames were everywhere, eating everything in its path, and quickly encroaching in on them. Every second more they were closer to death.

Troy shook from her small death grip and took her face in his hands.

"You need to go. I'll find you on the ground. Okay?"

She didn't look sure about that. Her lips, barely parted, quivered, ready to argue once more. Lime Basil, she wasn't leaving his side and it would get her killed.

"Troy…" There was a warning in her voice. He looked past her at Alicia and nodded. The hatred that she had for him was set aside on a shelf. It was temporary, but he'd take it. Alicia came up and pulled and dragged Ryan past him. "Troy!"

Ryan disappeared beyond a wall of smoke. A few others followed. Troy frowned. His eyebrows pressing inward with distress. He couldn't help feeling heavy, wishing he'd parted with her differently. He should've done something more to reassure her, but of what? The world was ¾ dead at least. He couldn't make promises or guarantees. But hoped with a heavy heart that this wasn't the last time he'd see her even though he felt pretty sure it was.

If he did see her again, he was going to make up for this goodbye.

Basil whined, circling his feet. He could feel her shaking.

A wheeze and a cough startled him right then. Tuck's head fell to the side to look at him.

"Stay here! I'll be back," he told Basil.

Troy knelt next to Tuck. The blood pooled from the corners of his mouth was black and soot was collecting over his wrinkles. He coughed some more. Kenny had shot him in the ribs. With the way he was barely retaining air, Troy guessed one of his lungs collapsed.

"Get...Out." Tuck gurgled.

Troy pulled his knife free of its sheath and raised over Tuck. Tuck stared up at the gleaming blade. There was no horror or shock. Troy closed his eyes, gripping the hilt tight.

"I'm sorry," he muttered with a shaky breath, right before bringing the blade down fast and hard.

The skull wasn't actually that difficult to pierce; that's what was scary. Troy opened his eyes and pulled. Pulling out the blade was the tricky part. The knife didn't release at first because of how the muscle clung to it like the sword in the stone. With extra strength, Troy pulled it out of Tuck's forehead. Blood oozed from the stab wound, but not much.

Shouting pulled him from the brief moment of grief.

Grant had Reed and was pulling him back across the bridge. The trees crackled and snapped. Branches toppled down. Trick ran across, following them.

Seeing Sophie still trying to put out the fire Troy ran over the bridge. The wooden planks below his feet creaked, threatening to break under his weight.

"Sophie!" He shouted, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back. The building that was once rooms crumbled. Troy ran, barely making it before the bridge snapped and dropped.

"This place is finished." Trick said. "The flat is gone. We'll climb down."

Trick took Sophie and put her on his back.

"Hold tight, like a monkey," he told her and then they were gone, over the edge of the pit.

Reed looked at Troy. Troy was looking around and then saw it. The short sword. A sack was nearby. Looked like Grant's. It was half full.

"Basil!" Troy shouted.

The fox ran to him and then crawled into the bag. Troy didn't have time to question how she was so obedient. He slung the sack onto his shoulder and then stood. Two other rooms had collapsed around them, crashing to the ground.

"Troy!" Reed shouted. He was halfway over the edge. Troy ran over and climbed down the tree trunk right behind him. Bark splintered into his hands. This was where Ryan would climb up normally.

At the bottom, he looked up at the raining fire as it consumed every green bit up there. Reed shouted his name for him to follow. It was going to consume everything in sight. They needed to run.

"Ryan!" Reed shouted, trying to get back to the burning tree tops.

Troy and Trick held him back.

"We need to go! This blaze is going to bring in walkers from all over within a seventy-five-mile radius, maybe more," Troy said.

Reed's eyes glittered. And he nearly collapsed to the ground in despair. This was their home.

"Let's go!" Troy shouted.

Reed glared at him.

"You don't even care," he spat.

Troy held back what he could've said. His chest burned and not just from smoke inhalation. He cared. More than he'd ever admit to. Ryan had reached out to him, was there for him when she should've gutted him while he slept. This was more than what it should've been to him. It was home.

Basil pawed from inside the sack.

"You go up there and you die," Troy said gravelly. "That won't do anybody any good."

"RYAN!"

Troy's heart panged and it felt like needles stabbed it at a rapid rate as he looked up at the all-consuming fire. It spread fast with the wind's help. Flames trickled down to the ground. Branches cracked and crashed down. There was no getting past it to the other side.

He should've waited. He should've grabbed her. He should've grabbed Ryan and forced her down before him. The flames roared as his head kept going. Trick clapped Troy on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

"We have to go, bro. It's spreading so fast," He told Troy. His voice was scratchy and his blonde hair was a knotted mess of ash.

Troy's head shook, but he didn't even feel it. It was all gone. The kicking at his shoulder, snapped him to the present. He let Basil out of the pack and then gave it to Trick who shouldered it without a word.

Turning, Troy gave Reed a hard shove, getting him going though he was in a daze just like him. Sophie was on the ground. Smoke smudged her face. Basil was at her side, moving side to side, threatening to bolt.

Troy nodded her up. She had a small sack on her back too, but there was barely anything in it. Two horses neighed not far ahead of them. A chicken clucked wildly. Two others were running around, their bodies ablaze. It would've been funny if their entire home wasn't in flames.

Sophie stood on wobbly legs. Troy didn't hesitate. Before she fell over, he grabbed her arm roughly and swung her onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wiry legs around his waist.

Trick raced a couple steps and caught the chicken. Reed had gone on ahead, but Troy could still see his shadow. Troy paused and looked back.

"Ryan's okay," Sophie said in his ear. The odd pangs subsided some. She seemed confident about it. "You know it."

After catching up to Reed, they all took a pause. Resources were low. Rock bottom.

"So we have nothing basically."

"We have Grub," Trick said, jostling the chicken.

"We aren't going to eat Grub are we?" Sophie's eyes widened.

"Shh," Troy hushed her softly. Sophie pressed her face into his back and he felt her shake with a silent sob.

"Sophie managed two blankets, a canteen of water and some canned goods." Trick said. "I have some canned goods, a book, and two shirts and a flashlight."

"We all have our knives?" Reed checked each of them.

Troy froze right then. Past Reed, he just barely made out the shape of a figure. As it drew closer he saw it was Brian. He didn't know Brian that well. He coughed as he drew near.

"Did you see anybody else?" Reed asked immediately.

Brian shook his head, still coughing up smoke.

"Fire is everywhere," he wheezed.

"So then comes our great dilemma," Trick cut in.

Everyone looked at him.

"Fire or the bayou."

They all followed his gaze to the murky water.

"Fuck."

* * *

 **Leave a review. I'd really appreciate it. I love hearing from readers.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I know. I take too long to update. Sorry! I have a lot of different projects running. I love you all still, and have a brand new chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 8

"Move your ass, lass!" Grant shouted.

Ryan was being yanked by the arms backwards. Smoke stung her eyes as she scrambled to get her feet on the ground. Grant lifted her up with his arm around her waist. He had to struggle to keep a hold of her, she was so slippery, trying to wriggle free and she nearly did a few times.

Smoke raked down her throat, burning the voice right out of her. She wanted to scream for her brother. For Sophie. Trick. Tuck.

…Troy. Even him, though there was a clear and present darkness he was struggling against. She'd never admit that he was the first one she thought of and Reed, her own brother, was the second. He'd been the get her out first, but she'd lost him. A lot of the group was missing and she was losing her mind, trying not to believe they were all dead.

Grant still dragged her back, his thick arm tight around her waist. Shay was shouting, but Ryan could barely hear her beyond the roar of the fire. Alicia and Strand shouted, too. Grant kept pulling her along and held her up even as her legs lost all working ability.

The Canopy, their home was gone. It cracked and fell to the ground, leaving nothing but smoldering wreckage. Ryan's eyes stung and blurred from smoke and tears. She blinked rapidly, but it did no good.

"It's all gone," she said. Each word was a scratch on her windpipe, making her sound like she smoked a carton of cigarettes a day. "All of it."

"And if we don' move, we will be too," Grant said. He let go of Ryan, nudging in the direction of darkness.

"Let's go! We have to move!" Alicia shouted. "This is attracting walkers from everywhere within at least a ten-mile radius."

Ryan finally gained her footing on the damp and ashen ground. She and Grant spun to run, Ryan only got five steps and then suddenly yelped from a tight and vicious yank by her hair. The bright and fiery world spun around her and she nearly fell to her knees.

"You're not going anywhere." The low voice was hot on her ear. Kenny.

"You, prick," Ryan breathed. She tried to pull free, but it only result in more searing pain at her scalp.

Though a little dizzy, she forced herself to stay upright. She swallowed hard. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the gleam of the barrel of his gun. Her eyes widened. He'd lost his damn mind.

"Let her go, you bast'ad," Grant growled furiously.

"Oh no, you come any closer and I'll blast her in the head," Kenny snarled.

Ryan's lips turned down at the corners. She was by no means helpless. Not ever. She couldn't afford to be. But, right now, she was exactly that and she hated it. Her muscles screamed in agony. Her heart pounded harder than the hoof-beats of a team of horses.

"You don't want to do that," Strand said with raised hands, showing that he and the others meant no harm. He sounded like he was making a business proposition and now wasn't the time for it. Ryan gritted her teeth. It wouldn't be nothing to fling her elbow backwards. "Just let her go. We'll do whatever you ask."

The look on Grant and Alicia's face said otherwise. They both worked various looks of rage.

"Oh, I think I do. See," Kenny yanked Ryan's head by the hair sharply, "she's my ticket out of here. Alive."

Kenny jerked her head back farther, straining her neck.

"Me and Ry here are going to go and if you follow, you're dead," he said.

Kenny began taking tentative steps backwards. Ryan resisted, but was yanked for the worst yet. She felt some of the strands rip free of her head and nearly fell over. A sharp pain, blinding white, flashed over her eyes.

"Let's go," he snarled at her.

Grant advanced, a wildfire of his own brewing in his green eyes, though they glowed orange from the actual fire. He was letting her out of his sight for a second.

"WHAT DID I SAY!?" Kenny shouted. He pointed the gun at Grant and then pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple again, cocking it. She didn't know if there were actual round in the weapon, but she didn't want to test it.

"Grant! Go!" Ryan shouted. Her voice wavered with fear.

Grant shook his head stiffly.

"Your brother will never forgive me." And he'd never forgive himself. She knew that even though he didn't say it.

"It's okay." She nodded to reassure him, though she was pretty sure it was for her own benefit.

Off to the side, she saw Alicia's grip tighten on her semi-automatic. The look in her eye was cold and empty and violent; exactly the same look she gave Troy when she'd first seen him here.

"I'll be okay," Ryan said.

And then they were gone as she was being dragged backwards into the bayou.

"You're mine now," Kenny muttered, out of breath, in her ear.

* * *

Grant took a step toward the bayou with the intention to follow Ryan, but was quickly stopped by Shay grabbing him by the wrist. She gave him an uneasy look then glanced in the direction in which Kenny had stolen off into the night and then back at Grant. She didn't want to lose him next. There was a reason you didn't go in there, _especially_ at night. There was more dead tracking through there, slow or stuck. In the dark, it would be effortless to be eaten alive. With a massive fire now, there was certainly no way Grant would make it through there.

"Are you kidding? It's Ryan. She stuck up for ye and has gone beyond measure helping all of us and ye want to leave her out there!?" His eyes glittered with tears.

"It's not safe. And the fire is spreading."

"So we leave her for dead with that dick!?" The veins in his forehead down over his neck and collarbone bulged angrily. His face grew redder and redder, nearly matching the red of his hair.

"We have to be smart," Strand said.

"And you?" Grant looked at Alicia who'd remained quiet.

She shook her head and shrugged. There was nothing in her eyes. She had no idea what to do. There was a lost look in her eyes.

"I could've taken the shot. But, I'm not going in there. It's suicide," she replied.

For a few minutes, it was quiet with nothing but the blazing trees crackling and breaking and burning.

"FECK!" Grant shouted. Ryan may have been the same age as him, but she felt like his baby sister and whether or not Reed was alive, it was his responsibility to protect her now. She was family and he'd let that asshole take her.

"We have to go or we're going to be trapped," Strand said. The man eyed the nearby flames. Embers sparked free, touching close by trees and the grass and anything else they wanted.

Turning, Grant reluctantly followed the three in the opposite direction that Kenny had dragged Ryan off into.

* * *

The edge of the bayou was mud and muck. Everybody, short of Sophie who was sleeping on the back of one of the horses, was jumping from time to time as if seeing muddy shadows lurking out in the mist of the murky bayou. Troy tried keep out of it the best he could as they all made their way away from the fire. It was farther off now, but still working through.

Trying to be quiet was impossible with rustling leaves and the suction of the muddy water, threatening to swallow. They needed to find a way out of this watery grave.

The sky was lightening pale grey with the dawn. The trees looked black. They all looked pale.

"What do we do?" Brian asked aloud.

"Keep going," Troy said bluntly. He didn't even look at him, but kept his eyes forward like the stupid question didn't merit any real acknowledgment.

"That's not what I meant," Brian said, his words clipped with annoyance.

"Keep going," Trick agreed, but softer, more depressed.

Troy could see Brian shake his head, obviously unsatisfied about the answer. What kind of answer was he expecting? They were in the middle of nowhere, getting slowly swallowed by the ground with every step. Troy had nearly lost a boot already. Sophie nearly got swallowed by a hole. Basil was back the pack on Trick's shoulders because the water was too high. All of them were dead tired and sluggish.

"I mean once we're-"

Brian's words were cut off with a shrill scream. Sophie's scream. Troy moved so fast it was a near blur. His blade was drawn, ready to cut down anything in his path.

Two walkers had approached, one having bitten into the back of the horse she was on. Reed had already propelled past Troy. As he swung out, Troy quickly snagged her from the horse and held her around the waist, off the water. The walkers moved like shadows. They could barely see them. The horse neighed and screamed as the walkers took it down. Trick took Sophie and the two of them ran ahead—him with Grub in his hands and her with their remaining horse.

"A little help!" Reed grunted. Three were on them. It was as if they were peeling from the mud and trees themselves. Brian ganked a couple, but it was as if they had resurrected with two more, like a hydra's head.

Troy pulled Reed back before he was encircled by a crowd. They were swarming.

"They just keep popping up!" he exclaimed.

A horrifying scream pierced through the trees and cut through the group.

"Brian!" Reed bellowed.

But, it was too late. Troy had to hold Reed back as the small crowd that was growing focused on Brian. The water splashed viciously as Brian thrashed, trying to get free. Screams turned to gurgles and then dying groan as his body was bitten and torn apart. Blood coated the surface of the muddy water, tinging it a dingy red that flowed outward.

Though a loss that left them all wordless, they were lucky to get away. A few stragglers followed in ones and twos, but it was manageable.

Brian's screams still rang loudly in Troy's ears. Nobody talked as they walked. Sophie sniffled here and there and used the back of her hand to wipe her runny nose. He'd seen walkers eat people, but never like that. He imagined that nightmare would keep her from a good night's sleep for a very long time.

Troy swallowed, forcing himself to put the images from his mind before he puked again.

By morning, there was scorching black was streaked everywhere and smoke was all Troy could smell still. Each of them were smudged with their fair share of soot. His legs ached. While Trick still carried Grub—which he promised Sophie they'd only killed the bird if they absolutely had to—Reed had taken a turn carrying Basil in the pack. Her head and front paws poked out and were nestled on his shoulder. Sophie was asleep on Troy's back, her arms around his shoulders and her hands twitching tightly, still keeping her latched on to him as he led the horse.

"Where are we? Anybody know?" Reed asked.

Troy shook his head. He was uncomfortable not knowing.

Trick stopped and looked up. Troy paused, taking the minute break to flex his hands, letting the blood flowing back into them. He'd wake Sophie soon so she could walk some. Trick turned his head one way and then the other, looking up at the sky with a studying gaze. He walked around. Everyone watched him curiously, wondering what he was doing.

"We're heading east," he said finally, rejoining the group.

Everybody, not just Troy, looked at him strangely.

"What?" he said with a shrug.

"How do you know that?" Reed asked curiously.

"I took astronomy as my core science in school. You can get anywhere just by reading the stars and planets," Trick replied. He pointed up at the white ball in the gray hazy sky. "The sun's a star. I can't guess where we are, but at least we know the direction. Better than nothing."

He shrugged.

It was a light reprieve and even Reed cracked a small grin. It faded quickly as soon as they started walking again. The night had been long and shattering for everyone.

The fog mixed with the last traces of smoke. Troy coughed a couple times with some of it from last night still sticking to his lungs. Reed passed around the canteen. They were nearly out of water. He jostled Sophie gently.

"Water?" he said quietly, offering it to her.

Lifting one limp arm, she reached out and Reed put the canteen in her hand. A small droplet of water trickled across her cheek as she drank. No one told her to take it easy or to slow down. Her pallor cheeks filled with color, but not much.

As the sky dull blue with the mid-afternoon, it became visible just how bad last night was to each of them. Ash streaked Trick's blonde hair and Sophie's cheeks. Reed actually had a few red splotch burns from getting too close to the fire. His clothes were singed too. All of their eyes were bloodshot. Whether it was from the dry air and stinging smoke or from lack of sleep, nobody could tell.

"You look like shit," Reed told Troy.

"I look better than you."

Reed snorted, nodding, knowing he was right.

"Guys," Trick said. He pointed ahead. "Look."

The trees began to clear ahead revealing a road.

"Holy shit." Reed mumbled. A road could be a godsend, but also a beacon because whatever else was on it could kill them. But, they walked, searching. For what, none of them really knew. They just kept walking in silence. The Canopy was gone and so was much of everything else they'd had.

* * *

 **It's a bit of a short one.**

 **Don't forget to favorite, follow, and ESPECIALLY review if you enjoy the story. It's my rocket fuel.**


	9. Chapter 9

**The beginning of a new chapter. Thank you to everyone who's been following the story. Onward and upward.**

* * *

Chapter 9

 **The Plantation**

"Walk."

Ryan spun, and without a second's hesitation, clocked Kenny across the jaw. Her hand surged instantly with searing pain. It was partially worth it.

"Fuck you!" she spat. She flexed her fingers.

Kenny stumbled back a step, his feet sloshing in the mucky mud. Both of them were soaked up to their waists from having to wade through deep parts. Luckily, there were patches of land that made the trek only slightly easier. Coming back, Kenny backhanded her, setting the whole left side of her face on fire. But, she remained standing. She worked her jaw.

"Move, before I decide to kill you," he said, his tone dark and menacing.

"Oh please," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "You're too afraid to be alone. You won't kill me."

"Test me." The words were unflinching.

Ryan adjusted her lucky pack on her shoulders and turned to keep walking. She grumbled incoherently to herself again for her short sword falling out of her bag. If she still had it she could've ganked him already. Fucking hell.

"I wonder if they're dead," Kenny said. His attempt to strike up conversation failed miserably, but that could've had something to do with the topic. Ryan grinded her teeth.

Call it twin-epathy or ESP or whatever superpower-magical ability twins have, Ryan didn't believe her brother was dead. He was too determined and secretly stubborn. And Grant and Sophie wouldn't up and die so easily. She couldn't imagine the fates of anyone else and refused to.

Their footsteps squished and splashed for hours until Kenny finally let her take a break. They settled on a patch of grass. The smell of smoke was gone. The sun was bright as if the fire last night had never happened.

She took off her boots and rung out her socks. Giving them a chance to dry, she rubbed her feet. They ached terribly and were extremely pruny. Two blisters rested on the pads of her left foot. She resisted popping them If she did that all kinds of gross infection would reap war across her foot.

"If you all could've just understood that that place wasn't going to last and let me take over then none of last night would've happened."

"You really want me to repeat myself," she said with a scoff. Kenny raised his head, meeting her eyes. "Fuck you. Last night was because of you! You killed Tuck! You killed our other people! You burned our home to the ground! This IS your fault."

Kenny stared at her unblinkingly. He was like a child that believed he did no wrong.

Ryan looked away and into her bag to check her inventory. She tucked large strand of loose hair behind her ear. There were a few protein bars, water, one set of fresh clothes, two books, and—she reached inside, feeling around, and then grinned—there was a pen. Her heart skipped a beat, but whether it was over the fresh socks or the pen, she wasn't sure.

* * *

"We should get going." Alicia said.

Grant sighed, but didn't argue. Her monotone voice was grating on his ears. Shay and Strand only nodded. They'd found a road and had been walking it for the last couple of days. Grey clouds swirled overhead with the promise of rain and they were all counting down, praying for it.

"Do you care at all?" Grant asked. This whole time since she'd joined them a few weeks ago she'd been like a shell. Her eyes were null and empty. Why the hell was she still alive?

"What?" That sparked something. She looked at him as if offended. And if she was then good. She'd once called Troy a sociopath or somewhere thereabouts, but she was the one acting like it.

"You eard' me. Are you alive in there? If not then let me go ahead and do the job," Grant said, and pulled his machete free.

She glared hatefully.

"You have no idea—"

"Do you honestly think none of us understand, luv? Everybody has lost somebody. I'm pretty sure my best friend is dead and Ryan, as tough as she is, there's no way she's alive out there. Walk'ers crawl through that bayou. They become it. Ye don't survive it. So, losing people? We all understand that. We're just pulling our heads out of our arses and survive. If you don't want to do that, tell me now. I'll end it for ye. Aye?"

Strand didn't say anything when Alicia looked his way and she realized he'd been having the same thoughts. Herr nostrils flared.

"Mourn your dead. Don't become one of'em. They wouldn't want that," Grant finished. He put his blade away.

Alicia closed her eyes. Her eyebrows pressed inward and she shuddered a breath. Her hair that fell around her shoulders and face in waves was a frizzy mess. With the hair-tie around her wrist, she put it up and then sighed deeply. The light in her eyes was faint, but Grant made some sort of impression because she was no longer emotionless.

"I'm just tired."

"We all are."

"If I see that prick, Kenny, I'm planting one between his eyes," she stated, as if it were the most natural thing to say.

Grant smirked.

"Get in line, pageant princess. _If_ Reed's alive, he's got first dibs."

* * *

The days passed in agony. Ryan was hungry and she only had one protein bar left, which she was sharing. Thirsty. And she was bruised from head to toe. She struggled not to limp from her worsened blisters. More than once she tried to take Kenny, and every time he knocked her to the ground.

They made up camp near sunset on the sandy shores they'd finally stumbled out onto…kind of. The fire he'd made was smaller than a boy scout fire. A flicker. Using a makeshift spear that he'd poorly whittled, he got a few fish.

The breeze felt nice against Ryan's raw skin. It was a brief relief, like finally getting a moment to breathe.

"We'll make it. We'll be fine," Kenny mumbled.

Ryan snorted.

"We? Fine? You've taken me hostage. Kidnapped me. Whatever you want to call it." She sneered. "There is no we, you moron."

"You always were an acquired taste." Kenny said as he turned the fish over the fire. The shadows dancing across his face made his cheekbones appear bonier.

They spent a couple days on the shore before moving on, not that there was anywhere to really move on to. They followed the shore line until they came to a house. It was no small thing. It was a private beach house with all of the trimmings by the looks of it. Kenny was already making his way up the wooden steps. Each board creaked under his boots.

"Do you really want to go up there? It could be crawling," Ryan said, remaining at the bottom. She couldn't help that the edges of her words sounded hopeful.

"Are you worried about me?" Kenny actually sounded pleased about it.

"No. They eat you first, I stand a better shot of survival."

The entire house was empty. And nobody was home. Like a tornado, it was like the apocalypse bounced right around this place. Still, Ryan had a strange feeling, much like the one when she and Troy happened across that house in the French Quarter.

"I'm going upstairs." Ryan said, already going.

She locked herself in the master bedroom. Kenny knocked a few seconds later, but said nothing and walked away, leaving her alone. She was glad he didn't threaten to break the door down.

This place was a damn saving grace. Places like this were never touched, not by a living soul and certainly not the walking dead. Even down on the shoreline, they'd only comes across one or two that were sogging messes. Really disgusting. One had its line of intestines dragging behind as if hoping to catch a fish with it.

The bedroom was nice. Light, stormy blue and grey. The bed was huge and fluffy. It looked like it could fit five people comfortably. Without taking off her boots, Ryan flung herself back on the bed and turned over on her side. She closed her eyes, promising herself only a few minutes.

* * *

Troy's back all the way up to his cranium was stiff and ached when he moved. There was only so much comfort one could get from sleeping on the ground. A few hours ago, he'd left Brian to keep watch.

Brian was leaning against the trunk of a tree, asleep. Trick and Reed were gone. Sophie was asleep, her head resting on her pack and Basil on top of her, keeping her warm, just like Troy wanted.

Brian stirred right as a rustling shook the bushes nearby and the leaves crinkled. Troy was in a crouch and Brian was on his feet immediately, both ready to fight. They both relaxed as Trick and Reed came into view, carrying an alligator between them. It wasn't very large, but it would last a few days.

Sophie stirred. Basil rose carefully and trotted to meet Troy, yawning a mewl. She was hungry. They all were.

"Breakfast." Trick smiled. It was a real smile. None of them had smiled or even said more than a couple words for days.

Troy's mind was occupied. He didn't like it being occupied. He didn't like wondering if Grant and Ryan were okay. They were dead as far as he knew. He should've moved on right quick. There was no sense in torturing oneself over loss, not anymore. Yet, he was thinking about them with a small trickle of hope pricking his chest and he hated it. That prickle would get him and everybody that was alive, here and now, killed.

Troy tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. It was pale blue, nearly searing white. It was going to be hotter than hell today. He inhaled deeply, the smell of smoke and the bayou was rank. Looking down at himself, he struggled not to gag. The heat cooked everything. _Everything._

"Hey."

Troy turned his head. Reed nodded up into the air.

"You smell that?"

Troy nodded. Rot. Death. Walkers.

"We should move soon. We may not be that far away from a horde."

"Yeah," Troy agreed.

He looked back over his shoulder at the blaze of smoke just miles off. He couldn't let himself think about who could've died in there. That could drive him and insane he knew it. There was no such thing as a fresh start, but it was a nice thought.

* * *

Ryan bit the inside of her cheeks until she was pretty sure she tasted blood. It was either that or bile. Her mouth was so dry she didn't know. Kenny was leaning back in one of the dining room chairs, asleep. She wanted to kick him. Punch him. Strangle him. Drown him. She wanted to kill him in several different ways. And do it over and over and over. Her fists were clenched so tight that her bitten down nails dug into her skin.

She didn't kill him.

As much as she hated it, she couldn't. She had no idea if they were still in Louisiana. No idea if there were others were nearby, just waiting to make a move. Probably not, but she wished. For now, she waited. That was the smart thing to do and being smart sucked sometimes. There would be a moment that he would exceeded the usefulness his obsession with her.

Quietly, Ryan made her way over and swiped her foot under the chair legs. Knocking Kenny to the floor with a crash. A dry smirk spread across her lips and for a second she felt good.

"Get up," she said bluntly.

"Aye, woman!" Kenny glared up at her towering over him and rubbed the back of his head.

"Do you know where we are?"

Kenny didn't say anything.

"See, I found a map." She held up the folded and well-worn rectangle that spread out to show exactly where they were as well as hotspots to see within a twenty-five miles radius. "We're in Mississippi."

"Okay?"

Ryan rolled her eyes.

"It don't matter where we are anymore, Ry. We're in this together. Like we always have been."

He stood up and Ryan turned, swinging her small fist. It connected with his cheek. Because she was small, she didn't expect there to be much power behind her swing, but there was. It helped that she caught him off guard. His cheek began to swell.

"You won't do that again," he warned her.

"Or you'll kill me? Really?" she shook her head, sneering. "Look at this. I'm serious."

He leaned over the map. His eyebrows tensed and she knew he was seeing what she was. All of the marks. How worn the creases of the paper was. Kenny relaxed and shrugged.

"So? This is nothing."

Ryan scoffed. How the hell was he still alive?

Then she remembered. It was his uncanny ability to use people and then dispose of them.

"This is not nothing. This place—" she swung her arms around, "—is lived in. And the person or persons that were here could come back."

"Then we take care of them." The way he said it was dark and ominous. "This is our place now. You know the saying. Snooze you lose."

Her frustrated expression dropped to deadpanned, but he looked ridiculously proud.

"Are you fucking stupid? Or just crazy?" She snapped angrily. "We're not going to be Goldilocks who gets her head chopped off by the bears. Not happening!"

She stomped to the living room. Her pack rested on the couch. She'd already packed quite a bit in there. In the side pocket was her book and pen. A few pages were ripped out and scattered in small nooks. She touched it, thinking back. Her heart ached thinking about how the library she'd built burned to the ground.

She shut her pack and swung it onto her shoulder. It took a minute to adjust to the new weight. Kenny could stay if he wanted. She wasn't. Not even if he threatened her again.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kenny asked.

"You want to wait around then go ahead. I won't. It's too dangerous, especially since it's just us," she said, making her was to the patio door they'd come through just the day before. "I'm not sticking around."

She turned around and looked at him.

"There are worse things than the dead out there," she said.

"Yeah. Me."

She snorted.

"No. You're just pathetic."

Kenny was out of the chair and his hand was around her throat instantly. She wheezed a breath.

"Don't start thinking you can start with that cute backtalk and get away with it, Ry. Maybe I won't kill you. Maybe I'll leave you tied up somewhere and let the walkers find you and eat you alive. Maybe I'll just let them have a bite and watch you slowly turn. There are many ideas floating around in this thick head of mine. Who knows what I'll do?"

"Shove…shove it up your ass," Ryan forced out, her glare boring into him

Kenny chuckled right then, but didn't let go.

"You know, there was always one thing you and I had in common. Something that nobody else knew about, not even your brother. You probably prefer it if he didn't see, too. The way you go around risking your life the way you do. Acting like nothing can touch you." Kenny leaned in close. "You're already dead. There's nothing left inside of you. Just like those things out there. Baby, you're rotting from the inside out."

Ryan didn't admit to anything. Her hand tightened at his forearm, trying to get him to let go, but her knee sprang up and nailed him in the stomach. He coughed into a wheezy laugh. Those words did stick with her, like tar glued to her lungs, stunting every intake of breath. He wasn't right. But she didn't know if he was wrong.

"We're leaving," she repeated.

She went out to the deck. The salty air swelled around her. Her body shook as she struggled to remain together. He's right, she told herself again. Then she looked back at the house. It was nice. Three stories, a balcony on the second, a hot tub, the large living room. They definitely needed to leave now.

Shaking her head, Ryan hurried down the stairs.

" _Hey, freak."_

 _Ryan looked away from the window that had nothing but a view of an office building across the street to Reed. He stood in the doorway, smiling, and it was welcoming. Oh so welcoming. She'd been here for nearly a month now. The heart had to be coming soon. It was only last week that the doctor had told her, Mom, and Dad, that she'd been bumped up to a priority on the transplant list. You think it'd be reassuring. It wasn't._

 _Being a priority had never seemed like such a terrible thing until now. The moment when her life hung on a stupid string. That string was flimsy and she was half tempted to cut it herself._

 _"Says the other freak," Ryan replied with a playful sneer._

 _Reed had been in college for a few months now. She was supposed to be in college, too. Instead she occupied this hideous white room that smelled like clean death and made her want to scream._

 _"How are we today?"_

 _"Can't you just read my mind this time?"_

 _Ryan looked away and back out the window again._

 _"I know it sucks—"_

 _"That's actually the one thing you don't know," Ryan said, her words clipped. "You don't know how it sucks because it's worse than sucks. This place is a graveyard."_

 _"No, it's not—"_

 _"The kid in the room next door died yesterday," Ryan said, cutting him off again. "He was fourteen and waiting on a liver. Like me, he was stuck here."_

 _Reed sighed, running his hand down his face. His eyes were dry and his clothes disheveled. He'd driven all the way here without sleeping. Again. She wished he wouldn't do that. It was bad enough she was dying. She didn't want him to end up in an accident from falling asleep at the wheel._

 _Reed bore a weary and sympathetic look. Then his eyes lit up and that mischievous look sprang up. Her eyes narrowed. While she loved reindeer games, she hadn't been in the mood for them lately. She was becoming consumed by her dark thoughts. She was getting in the habit of wondering if tomorrow would be the day she wouldn't wake up. Truth be told, the thought that the end was nigh was relieving._

 _Reed came to her bedside and yanked back the covers over her lap, sending a cool rush of air over her. Before she could protest, he removed the wires attached to her and then scooped her up in his arms and they were out of the room._

 _Ryan lay her head on her twin's shoulder._

 _"What are we doing?" She whined out the words. Even though she wasn't moving or making any real effort, her body was heavy. Every breath felt like she was trying to fill up a balloon. Exhausting._

 _"Sir?" Nurse Josie, on her rounds, stopped._

 _"I'm kidnapping my sister," Reed sang out, as they passed._

 _They got in the elevator and Reed maneuvered to press the up button._

 _They went up onto the roof. The breeze was light through her hair and she took in large lungfuls of air. The sun was well past late afternoon. Its vibrant yellow was heading into the sunset, brinking on glimmering and explosive orange._

 _Reed set her on her feet, waiting until she was steady and holding her IV stand on her own. She took a few steps. This would've been great if she wasn't still in a prison._

 _"So, I'm taking this bullshit poetry class as one of my core classes and we read this," Reed handed her a book from his messenger bag. The pages were bent from how he liked to fold them back as he read. Some of the pages were dog-eared. "It's not bad."_

 _Ryan leafed through it. Each page was an article from a newspaper or magazine or a page from a book and most of it was blacked out except for whatever words the author used to create their poems. It was impressive. She flipped all the way to the back to see a piece of paper folded in quarters. Her jaw tensed and then relaxed. He'd found it, the little snoop._

 _"What did you tell Mom and Dad?"_

 _"Why didn't you say something, Ryan," Reed asked, barely audible. He'd sat down at the edge of the roof. His feet dangled over the edge._

 _Ryan's heart swelled with both happiness and sorrow as she unfolded the paper and looked at her acceptance letter to UCLA._

 _"I'm going to take that as a no," she said and followed it with, "I was too busy being rushed to the hospital and dying."_

 _They sat in silence for a while. She looked at the book some more. The way the words were scratched out, it was almost as if the poem pushed all of the words, showing people the true message. Like a decoder._

 _"You should tell them," Reed said finally._

 _"And watch them cry. Again. No thanks."_

 _Reed huffed._

 _"Don't. I'm not going to give them some happy news that's actually pretty sad amidst the possibility that I may be dead soon. It's cruel and unusual and I won't do that to them," she said, making sure the harshness of her feelings about it known._

 _Reed shook his head._

 _"You got into UCLA. It's your number one." He smiled. He bumped his shoulder with hers. "After you get your heart I'm going to help you re-enroll."_

 _It would've sounded great if it wasn't for the way he said it. He said it like everything was going to be fine. It seemed like she wasn't the only one that hid something. Mom and Dad hadn't told him that she got bumped up on the donor list like they promised they would. If they had he'd be crying. He'd be crying because he'd know she wasn't going to make it. Make it to college. Make it to anywhere._

That memory was still ever present in Ryan's mind. It was the day she almost gave up.

She almost gave up again not long ago, except she remembered that book and it gave her a sprinkle of hope. It wasn't much, but enough. While Kenny had been getting cleaned up, she'd wandered around, pulled her book out, put in her own secret note by scribbling out what appeared to be random letters, though those letters actually held the message, and then she stuck it to the mailbox a hundred feet at the end of the drive. To anyone, it was random and possibly crazy. But not to Reed, and she prayed that he was somehow hot on their heels.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Ryan stopped cold, not even making it all the way down the steps. A knife, sharp and shimmering, was pointed at the hollow of her throat.

"Where are you going so fast? My home not up to your standards?"

* * *

 **Love you, dears, weirdos, and crazies. Don't forget to review. Even if you didn't enjoy it, say something.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello readers, hope you're all doing well.**

 **I want to say thank you to those who have favorited and reviewed. Also, new chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 10

Reed, Trick, and Sophie were trading the canteen back and forth. Troy fell back after a little while to catch the straggling walkers that were coming out and trailing them. It was more soothing than walking alongside the others. Their morose and hopeless looks were wearing on him. He couldn't tell them that they were going to be okay. He wasn't even sure he was going to be okay, especially since he wasn't entirely sure what that was like.

Over the last couple of nights, he often stared up at the black sky, remembering the conversations around the pit. The stories and even occasional laughter. He didn't tell any stories. He just listened. The more he'd listened, the more he enjoyed it. His stories, those he remembered and those that weren't completely splotchy in the brain weren't ones he told. Not at the pit. But Ryan asked. She'd ask and at first, no, he didn't tell her anything. Then he did.

Many times, he stayed awake afterward. Some loud tick in his head kept him wondering if he was going get his throat slit in the middle of the night. Instead, he sometimes awoke to discover a sudden attachment. He hated that he'd gotten used to that because now he didn't sleep at all. Neither did anyone else though, so that was a little comforting in its own way.

Reed stopped and so did the others. All of them suddenly reminded Troy of deer, the way they freeze when there's the slightest noise or when blasted by headlights. Then Troy saw it. Up head. Maybe fifteen or twenty feet. His breathing stilled and every part of him went rigid. All he could was make out the shape of a person. It was all in shadow. In his head, he kept repeating the word foe. Over and Over. That's what it was until proven otherwise. It could've been a walker or a person. And not all people were good people.

"Reed? Is that you?" So, not a walker. That voice was familiar. It was a woman's voice, but Troy's still couldn't see who it was. Foe? Kenny and that bitch that lives up his ass were still out there.

Troy reached for the hilt of his knife, gripping it tight. Only a few long strides and he'd be upon them. Reed faltered, unsure. Big mistake. Troy brandished his weapon.

The person, a woman as it turned out, staggered toward them. It was Lindsey.

"Oh my god," she gushed, out of breath. "Reed!"

"Lindsey." Reed said, his voice quivering, happy to see her. They wrapped up in a big hug with Lindsey reducing to sobs in the middle of it.

He pulled back and looked at her. His hands moved down over her arms, turning them over and then he spun her around. She shook her head.

"I'm not infected." She assured him. She was covered in mud and scorch. Her short, blonde hair was brown. They hugged again and then Trick did too.

"Where have you been," he asked. It was a stupid question. How did anyone know where they were anymore? Troy's hardened gaze switched back and forth between them.

"I dropped down from the Canopy and I've been wandering around." Her voice shook. "I've been wandering around aimlessly. I fell in a fucking sink hole."

That explained the mud.

"Lindsey!" Sophie squealed, wrapping her arms around her and hugging tight.

Lindsey met Troy's eyes right then. He saw her tense, her eyes darting down to his weapon. She hugged Sophie tighter. She'd become a shield suddenly. Troy's eyebrows pressed down. A shield from him? Hmph.

"Troy." Lindsey nodded, but didn't make any friendly gesture.

He said nothing, but frowned. He wanted to ask, but didn't. He wanted to know. Reed asked instead.

"Have you seen any of the others? Ryan?" He gulped, trying to swallow back his desperation. Lindsey's eyes glimmered and she shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. Her jaw quivered, but she was forcing herself not to be reduced to sobs. There were streaks down her cheeks from tears she'd cried. It made her look like she was wearing some kind of war paint.

Troy finally put away his knife, but didn't join in on the small reunion. He couldn't. It was more than it not feeling right. Looking at Lindsey pissed him off. She was alive and that was great and all, sure. But it wasn't who he wanted to see. He closed his eyes briefly and he could nearly hear _her_ soft, yet grating voice as _she_ chastised him jokingly.

* * *

"Aye! Ry, where you at?" Kenny called out as he tromped across the downstairs. "I ain't got the patience for your games right now."

A part of him wondered if she'd actually left. He wouldn't put it past her. At this point, they were out of immediate danger. This was as close to safe as it got right now. And safe still wasn't safe.

The veranda store slid open, clapping loudly. Kenny froze instantly at hearing more than one set of footsteps, and backtracked quickly into the hallway. He backed into the closet door against the stairs. Stealthily, he slipped into the closet under the stairs.

"Just be quiet and act like you don't exist," he whispered to himself, under his breath. "Like Harry Potter."

"Who are you, little wildling?"

Kenny cursed himself. There were other people crashing here. _Screw Ryan for being right. She jinxed this damn thing._

There was only two of them by the sounds of it. There was a loud smack, the sound of a hand colliding with cheek, Ryan's cheek. She didn't make a sound, except for whatever she flung back against from the powerful hit. But she didn't cry. Kenny wished he could see something, but the slats of the door did nothing but show him the floor. He found it unnerving just how unbothered she was with violence or death that happened to her or close to her. It wasn't right.

"Who are you?" The second one was much more demanding.

"Does it really matter since you'll be killing me in a few seconds?"

Her sarcasm nearly got him laughing. His body shook a little.

"Not really." The first one said. "I'm Victor anyway. This is Clint. You've stumbled upon our abode."

"But, don't worry little wildling, we're not evil. Just not fond of break-ins." The one called Clint said that.

"Anyone else here with you?"

Kenny's eyes widened. _Shit_ , he thought. _Perfect time for payback._ He shut his eyes tightly, and his body tensed, waiting for her to reveal him. Stupidly, he'd left his knife in the kitchen. Looking around, there wasn't much to choose from in this cramped space, except golf clubs and umbrella. The umbrella did have that pointy tip. He grabbed it, holding it tightly like a sword.

No response came.

"I can't tell if that means there's nobody else here or if that means she just doesn't want to give them up," Victor said. His voice warbled like a fourteen-year-old boy's just hitting puberty.

"Get out of my face," Ryan said. Her voce was different, darker. Kenny went numb. That bland, emotionless tone came out when she was at her most dangerous. He'd seen it when the two of them had gone out on day trips together before the Canopy fell. It was a void state that made him nervous. When she got like that it wasn't as if she turned into some kind of monster. She just turned lifeless. When she got like that, she was volatile because though she'd knock down anything in her path, she didn't care if she lived or died. In fact, he was pretty sure she wanted to die sometimes. It was scary.

These idiots didn't know that. Too bad for them. They were going to die very painfully.

There was a scuffle and then a whimper from her. Kenny clutched the umbrella in his hand tighter, but didn't leave his hiding nook. Fuck if it made him a coward. The best way to stay alive was by hiding. Following that sound was a loud hit resulting in a crunching sound and then a groaning roar.

"You bitch! You broke my nose!" Victor's voice was muffled.

"I told you to get out of my face!" Ryan bellowed.

A loud slap ricocheted through the room and then there was a loud thump of a chair and body hitting the ground. Ryan's breathing was heavy. Whoever hit her knocked the wind right out of her.

Kenny gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. He was about to do something stupid. He was going to leave this perfectly nice hidey-hole. Then again, how long could he sit here? And didn't he hate it when unwanted guests tried to take his things.

Even though Ryan was a major pain in the ass and didn't see things the way he did didn't mean he wanted her dead, or worse. He opened the door slowly and luckily the hinges didn't squeak. He didn't want to leave the safety hole, but did anyway. Ryan was lucky he had a soft spot for her.

"I'm going to flay you, sweetheart," Clint said. He was knelt beside her, with a fistful of her hair in his hand. He yanked her head back hard. Her body arched back uncomfortably. He dragged the knife in his hand, a pathetic prodder really, along her cheek and down her throat. The tips pressed hard enough to leave a red trail.

Kenny didn't barge in. Not doing that was more difficult than finding a cool drink in Hell. Glancing around the doorway, Kenny got a decent look at the men. Both of them looked pretty well off considering. Both were scruffy looking, but their clothes were clean. So were their boots. They were really well off. Ryan and Kenny still had dirt in places.

Ryan's hands were bound in duct tape and pinned in front of her.

He stepped into the room, light on his feet.

"Get the hell off her," Kenny ground out low and dangerously between clenched teeth.

Victor and Clint looked up at him then at each other with a secret look then laughed. Ryan rolled her eyes and then reared her elbow up, nailing the one called Victor. He was knocked sideways, over the coffee table.

Kenny didn't hesitate. Raising the umbrella up, he stabbed Clint in the shoulder. Clint howled in pain and let go of Ryan. She rolled away and onto her feet. Kenny ripped the umbrella out, its tip bloody and then slammed it down again, this time through his head. Clint went limp on the floor.

Blood drenched Victor's front. With wide, frightened he eyes, he looked up at Kenny and Ryan. His eyes darted between them maniacally.

"This is our place!" He shouted, sounding like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. And then he smiled with red, bloody teeth. A low, rumbling chuckle came from him.

"What's so funny?" Kenny asked, his grip on the umbrella tightening.

"They've got friends," Ryan said, before Victor could answer. "We need to go. Now."

"No. We can stay here."

Ryan stepped in front of him.

"You don't understand. While you were hiding like a dipshit, they told me things," Ryan said. Her voice shook. "We don't want to be here when their friends catch up, especially since you just kabobbed Clint."

Kenny fumed. Was she serious!? This was a good spot for the end of the world. He wasn't giving it up without a fight.

"You're so dead," Victor cackled.

Ryan turned and kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious. She gestured her arms at Kenny for him to cut her free. Those guys had wrapped her wrists in a lot of duct tape. He hurried to the kitchen for his knife and cut up between her hands. She hissed as she ripped it off. Her skin was bright red. Bits of skin came off.

She stormed past him on her way out of the room, leaving Victor to bleed out and escape. He followed her to where her pack sat on the floor next to the front door. She'd always left it there in case they needed to make a quick escape.

"I know better than to call somebody's bluff when they say they have friends. Stay here if you want. I'm leaving," she said. Then, turning, her hand lashed out, striking him. A knife gleamed in her hand, at her side. Her face was void of emotion.

Kenny dropped the umbrella and held his chest. A diagonal slash oozed past the fabric of his shirt. _Dumb bitch_ , he thought. He didn't expect this. When did she pick up a knife?

"I just saved you." Kenny looked at her wildly.

"After burning the Canopy down and then kidnapping me and threatening to kill me." She opened the door and looked back at him. He fell to his knees. Blood loss was starting to make him dizzy.

There wasn't a perfect goodbye that stated fuck you and fuck you, for Kenny. So, she just smirked and left him there to bleed all over the foyer. By now, Victor was dead and would be awake and hungry shortly. She followed the sandy drive all the way up to where it met the road. She looked back. The beach house was nice, but only for a vacation spot.

Now she was on her own. And that was just fine. If she died that way that was fine too. There was nothing else she could be short of that. Otherwise she'd lose her damn mind.

* * *

"Oy, pageant princess!" Grant called loudly.

Alicia stopped walking. Her jaw tensed as did her fingers around her knife. That name was getting real irritating.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Her sharp eyes cut to him.

"Ah, Reed started it. It was a joke honestly. You're so uptight. Walking all tall and too proud, like you've got a rod up your arse."

"And you act like a spoiled princess," Shay quipped.

"I do not!" Alicia protested.

"Fraid' it's true, lass," Grant said. He winked at her.

Alicia glanced back at Strand. He shook his head, obviously stating that he was not joining this conversation. She could tell he struggled not to chuckle.

"If something doesn't go your way then you tend to have a fit," Grant went on. "But, that's alright."

Alicia sneered at him, and for the first time since the fire, they all laughed. A fraction of the weight on all of them was released. The laughter died quickly and with a sigh. Was it okay to laugh? With all of the others gone and possibly dead? With her mom and brother possibly dead? The dam washed them all out. Yet, here she was. Alive. She couldn't help being on edge so much. Grant and Shay weren't so bad. While she couldn't let go of the past, she couldn't keep herself from moving forward. She'd end up like mom if she did and that was not what she wanted. Not at all.

"I can't describe just how much I want it to rain right now," Shay said.

She tilted her head up to the sky. The sky was blindingly grey and meek. No deep, smoky clouds of the rain variety. She sighed and swallowed. Her throat was dry.

They'd been walking along the road for days. Well, they'd been dragging their feet. They were running on empty. Had been for days.

Shay ran into Grant suddenly. She shook her head and realized everyone had stopped. They were looking up at a sign. Strand frowned.

"Well, this doesn't look good." He spoke tight-lipped. His eyebrows knitted together, matching his frown.

Shay shared in the sentiment. Her lips parted with a shaky breath. Fear glinted in her eyes as she looked up at the sign the rest of them were fixated on.

The sign read, 'Welcome to Mississippi', but it's what was sprayed painted in red over it that made everybody's blood run cold. **KKK.**

"How recent do you think that is?" Alicia asked.

"Don't know, but I say we tread carefully. _Real_ carefully," Strand said. His hardened glance didn't lessen any.

Everybody was uncomfortable and angry.

"Ye think people like that would've been eaten by now," Grant snarled. His Irish accent had thickened and strangely, his hair seemed redder.

"We can hope," Shay spoke up. And she hoped. Hoped a hell of a lot. She remembered the history classes back in high school. And she remembered the history lessons she learned every day. Black people on the opposite side of everything. _This was just an asshole_ , she thought to herself. An asshole looking to scare people.

"Let's make camp here," Strand suggested, or rather insisted.

Nobody disagreed.

Shay finally tore her eyes from the rusty, state sign. Grant gave her a nudge as if to say it was okay. She just shrugged in response. She wasn't okay. He knew that, but he didn't want her to think she was alone. Nobody was going to hurt her.

Some of the best ways of communicating didn't involve talking at all. When you grew close to people words were forgotten. Reed and Ryan's twin ESP. The way Trick could look at people and know just what they needed. Sophie and how she was with animals. Had the world not gone to shit, she would've made a great veterinarian. Troy and Ryan hardly ever spoke. Ever. But, they understood each other right from the get go. So did Alicia and Strand. They came in, settled, and just didn't need to say much to understand what they needed. It's when you allowed yourself to grow close that these kinds of connections grew deeper. Shay was glad to be surrounded by people like that.

She only thought about it right now because they were all quiet. So quiet that she had to look at each of them to make sure they were breathing. They were all thinking the same thing. Two white folks, two black folks and a foul-mouthed Irishman walk into Mississippi…how many ended up dead? This just read bad all over it, but what were they going to do? Track back? To what? Shay shuddered from the thought. Alicia, having spotted it, pressed her lips into a sympathetic thin line.

"We should find a rest stop," Shay said. "They have maps."

Maps meant that maybe they could avoid trouble. Maybe. It also meant they could finally find something to eat. The last of the gator Grant had snagged was almost gone. They were all in the realm of maybe. She didn't want to think about last resorts. Couldn't fathom it.

Fear jolted her exhausted body. What happened if they came across people? She prayed they didn't find out.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ryan stopped and bent at the knees to catch her breath. Her lungs burned. Sweat coated her skin. There hadn't been any kind of road sign for anything for miles. The beach was long behind her as was Kenny, and she was now surrounded by trees on both sides of the road. After finally breathing steadily again, she wiped her forehead with her shirt continued on.

It was dead silent all around her. No birds or wind. At every branch snap or leaf rustle she did hear she stopped and looked around, searching. For what? She wasn't sure.

When nothing arose out of it, she kept on. Her journey went on like that, and she came across a walker here, a walker there. Disposed of them. At one point, there had been a handful, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. One had been carrying camping gear, which was lucky for her. She found a moth-eaten sleeping bag and a bag of trail mix and jerky and a knife. The knife was good and sharp. Better than the steak knife she had. She tucked it in her boot. The handle stopped halfway up.

There'd been a few stray cars on the road; one still had its driver still seatbelted in. Its teeth chomping and arms reaching out for any kind of freedom it thought she'd give. She gave it freedom. Well, the only freedom you could have anymore. The sound of sticking a walker in the head was always sickening. Before leaving any car behind, she checked them out. In the trunk of this one was a tire iron, a jack, and a handgun. She tossed a glance at the license plate and then smirked. _Texas, of course_ , she thought. The silver chrome, marble handled gun was large in her hand. And it had some weight. She didn't question what the hell it was doing in the trunk. She checked the mag, hammer and slide lock before turning the safety on and slipping it into the side pocket of her lucky pack.

She didn't sleep out in the open. She didn't really sleep at all anymore. When she was so tired that she couldn't walk anymore, she huddled up next to a tree. It was stupid to sleep without any kind of alarm system. She'd managed herself up the tree though, so she was safe from getting chomped on like a plaything.

Having a branch up your ass was better than a walker in your everything else. There were no walkers on the ground when she woke up.

More trekking. Her stomach growling on and off was the only thing to keep conversation with her. Otherwise, it was just her and her thoughts. Along the way she left crumpled up pages that she'd left black-out poetry on. It was mostly out of boredom. She had to keep her sanity about her in some way, so why not? There was a comfort in it also. It made her think about Reed and she missed him so much. She missed everyone. This kept her focused, kept them with her, kept her emotions from leaking out. It just did.

"Well," Ryan huffed, stopping at a dirt-pebble turn-off that had brick columns on either side. Willows swayed in the soft breeze. The entryway looked like one for a campground. "What's this way, I wonder."

She didn't wonder. She was possibly delirious, but she didn't wonder because she didn't care. She was just quite alone, and what else was she going to do? There'd been nothing but mile markers and the extremely rare sign for a campground or a park. Nothing to tell her where she really was. No towns. Just the asphalt road and trees.

Rocks skittered about as she walked down the dusty road to the campground. Rays of sun spotted the ground through the branches that arched overhead.

The campgrounds were barren. Almost. Up ahead, a camper attached to an old rust bucket red truck rested underneath a massive willow whose branches touched the ground in places. The camper was very retro nineties with its shutter sides. A small, uneven stone circle containing blackened wood was just outside it with a pot and a plastic lawn chair next to it. There was no smoke. It was cold, so there hadn't been a fire burning lately. Ryan turned her head this way and that. There was nothing else around.

Ryan leaned against a nearby tree, pursing her lips. _Not creepy at all,_ she thought. She inched closer to the camper. The sound of clanging and rummaging from inside made her halt mid-step. She pulled her gun, turning the safety off, and cocked it. There were two possibilities inside of that trailer. She hoped that whoever was in there was dead. She didn't like to kill live ones. Not if she didn't have to.

At the count of three, she grabbed the handle of the door and flung it open. It flew, unexpectedly lighter than she imagined, and bounced against the wall. There was no shouting of a normal person, just the raspy hiss of a walker. She was relieved. Its skin was weathered grey and it was missing half of its face and an arm. Currently, it was walking into the counter with the sink. Plastic dishes littered the plastic linoleum floor. Its neck cricked as it turned its head to look at her. It didn't blink, but mostly because it lacked eyelids, which was too bad. Its cloudy eyes were gross.

Ryan didn't step foot into the camper. The space was too small. She backed up slowly, quickly putting the gun away and pulling her knife out. The walker stumbled and fell off the single metal step down to the ground, clumsier than a puppy on brand new legs. Ryan stifled a giggle. Shouldn't have been funny, but it was. She thought about tying him up and keeping him around as a ward against other walkers. She couldn't recall the last walker she'd seen before this one. In the end, she decided it had to go.

"Go home, ugly. You're drunk." And she laughed at her own dumb joke. It stumbled to its feet and she planted her blade, with almost perfection, into its skull. It snapped its teeth at her one more time before it went down in a gross heap.

Ryan wobbled over to the metal step and sat down on it. For a good ten minutes, she just sat there. Nobody was around. She leaned back and peaked into the cabin. How the hell did this person turn? She looked around and then discovered the tipped over pill bottle. It was empty. The guy came out here to die.

This place was redneck hell. The smell alone made Ryan gag. There were small antlers hanging above the sink. The curtain in the 1 ½ by 1 ½ bathroom was camo, making her cringe. There were two cases of beer in the fridge, which was broken. So, she could get drunk on warm beer…how puke worthy. However, she had a great appreciation for the shotgun that was in the rack in the truck. There were two shells loaded and a box a little over half full in the glove box.

Grabbing the chording in the bed of the truck and some of the aluminum dishes, the sturdy kind meant for camping, and empty beer cans on the floor, she created her alarm system around the site. Then she went inside, not caring that it was humid enough she could drown and lay down on the twin sized bed that was nearly flat. The pillow was flatter and there was no blanket. She was surprised by how comfortable it was though. Her body just let go and that was it. It was no Hilton King sized, but it was better than a tree or a pile of leaves. She was out within minutes.

* * *

The road had opened up. They'd come across a gas station. It was nearly empty, but good enough to stay in for the night. All of them were exhausted, but Reed was the worst. Distraught had made him quiet.

Troy leaned over the engine of a car. The horses had died. One from walkers. The other…well…they had run out of food a week ago. Grub clucked about ten feet off. His fingers were blackened. Luck had it that people didn't much bother with the auto section of the store. He'd found a battery, oil, and even spark plugs and a fan belt. He thought about his brother, imagined what he'd be saying right about now.

"Hey, brother."

Troy froze and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. The air was stagnant and dry.

"You're not here," Troy said in a sullen tone.

"You did good. Taking care of this." Jake's hands rest on the side of the car as he looked at the engine, too. He smiled at Troy like he was proud of him. Why the hell did he look so proud? "You're taking care of them, too."

Jake nodded to the side at the store. Through the grimy windows, Troy could see Lindsey and Sophie. They were searching around and he could swear he saw them smile briefly. Reed and Trick were at the front counter hovering over a road map. Reed's forehead creased with intense concentration.

"They're alive because of you. You helped them," Jake said.

Troy shook his head. No, he didn't. He just wanted the hell out before he went up in flames. Bright flashes like lightning came to the back of his head, blinding him. It was the memory of what had happened to him. It had been his fault. Troy swallowed hard.

"I didn't help everybody," he replied sharply. He should've helped her. He should've kept an eye on her. Ryan. He should've tried harder to find her. He released a heavy, guilt ridden sigh.

"You did what you could. That matters," Jake said. He smiled softly, causing his eyes to crinkle at the edges.

"Right," Troy mumbled. But he knew he didn't and it made him angry.

"Who are you talking to?"

Troy turned his head. Reed was making his way over. Troy looked over to where Jake stood on the other side. He was gone. Troy's jaw tightened. Just his mind playing with him again.

"Uh, nothing. No one," Troy replied before Reed could get suspicious. He didn't need to give him any reason to think he was unstable, because he wasn't. Not anymore. He refused to be.

"So, does it work?"

Troy stood up and gesturing at the driver's side.

"Give it a try."

Reed went around to the other side slid into the car and turned the ignition, which still had the key in. The dusty white machine purred to life. Troy smiled to himself. He could imagine what she'd say. Ryan. Some quip about not being entirely useless. And damn right he wasn't. He was indispensable.

"Well, you're not entirely useless," Reed joked. "Now we don't have to walk."

Troy smirked.

"It is both interesting and disturbing how alike you and your sister are," Troy commented as he closed the hood.

"My dad used to say that a lot, which is funny because for the longest time I always thought we were too different," Reed said. He leaned against the car and stared off at the fields swaying in the breeze across the street. "He was right, though."

When there was only silence he went on,

"It's not your fault." Brief pause. "That she's—"

He couldn't say she was dead, but he knew that she might be. Same with Grant, Strand, Shay, and Alicia.

"She's not dead," Troy said. He'd lost what emotion he had left with that. It just drained out of him, because he could barely say those words that were a deadly lie.

"And you know that how?" Reed's eyebrows pinched inward.

"I don't," Troy said with a mild shrug. "We should get moving."

Reed nodded and headed back in.

Troy got in on the passenger's side because he sure as hell wasn't taking the first shift behind the wheel and laid his head back. He flinched when he closed his eyes and opened them quickly. That violent flashback came at him quickly. He was sitting in the middle of that horde with Nick, again, held up in that cockpit. God, an apology could never fix that. Nothing short of his killing himself could. Troy reached up and touched his temple. The soft spot there was tender still, and probably always would be. Good. It was a reminder of what he deserved. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist to try and rid himself of the shakiness it wrought in him.

The car doors opened and people filed in. Sophie with Basil and Trick with Grub. Damn if that chicken wasn't still alive. Even in the last few weeks when they were all ready to eat their own body parts, Trick refused to cook the thing. It had gotten mighty used to being carried by him, too. The trunk slammed shut and Lindsey crawled in the back on the other side of Sophie who sat in the middle. Reed was driving.

As they pulled out, Troy watched the road in his rearview mirror.

"So, where are we?" Troy asked.

"Mississippi right now," Reed said as he checked his rearview.

* * *

Ryan woke with a start, flinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her arm shooting up with her gun in hand, automatically ready to shoot. Her internal clock screamed. She blinked a few times before realizing that she was alone. Nobody had broken in. There were no walkers leaning over her like she was a piece of chocolate. Man, she would've loved to have chocolate. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had any or what it tasted like. She smacked her lips together.

Outside, the rope moved and the beer cans clanged together. Something tripped the alarm. Ryan's body tensed hard. So hard that her shoulders ached with tight knots.

After a few more minutes, Ryan lowered her gun and went outside. Two walkers got caught up. Ryan clicked the safety on and went back into the camper. Coming back out with her knife, she was careful, thrusting up under their chins with her blade. She grimaced as the second oozed all over her hand and up her forearm. The stench pushed her over the edge, twisting her stomach. She turned and vomited. There was nothing coming up except for the trail mix she'd eaten. She wiped her mouth with her clean hand.

The sun was setting in the trees on her seventh day in this billowing vacation land. She'd walked the parameter. There wasn't much around. There was a lake. It reminded her of the one back at the Canopy. It sparkled but was gloomier. She stayed at the edges after seeing a moccasin swimming around in it. Last thing she needed was to be taken down by a damn snake bite in the ass. Not only humiliating but ow.

She went back into the camper, keeping the rechargeable flashlight on low. In her book, she made her own stories or poetry by blacking out the page and leaving only the words she chose, imagining that she was sending them to Reed, Grant, Sophia, even Troy. What the hell else was she going to do with her time? She'd already read the book four times.

As the night came, so did the crickets and toads, chirping loudly. Ryan didn't sleep at night. Anymore she waited until the brink of dawn to get in a few hours. It went on like that for weeks.

Tonight, the sound of roaring jolted her from her dreamless reverie. She switched the flashlight off and moved to the window. It wasn't roaring, but barking, she quickly figured out. A dark shape darted through the open on the far side of the grounds fast. Two black dogs were hot on its heels. Ryan watched wide-eyed as they disappeared from sight. She didn't think dogs had gone wild. Subconsciously, she reached for her gun.

At the horrifying sound of shouting, she grabbed it, slung the shotgun over her shoulder and tucked her knife in a matter of seconds and was out the door, running after in the direction they'd gone. Her legs ached and burned as she blazed past trees. The screaming went on and grew more agonizing as she drew nearer.

She pulled the shotgun free and cocked it. Then the screaming died away into gurgling and then stopped. She stopped, but her grip on the gun didn't loosen. She aimed it up. Darkness surrounded her and that was dangerous. _Backtrack and lock yourself in_ , she thought to herself. She regretted coming out here.

Turning to do just that, she froze and went paler than the moon. She gasped.

A black and white dog, tense on its feet in its low crouch, drool dripping past sharp, seemingly red, teeth, growled at her. Its muzzle was glistening wet, too. Another growl came from behind her. She turned and the other one was there. Where was the person they were chasing? She chilled. _Cujo_ had not been her favorite Stephen King novel. She more enjoyed _Firestarter_.

Her finger twitched on the trigger. One of these fuckers was going to bite her when got a shot off, but which one. And when it happened, they'd probably snap a bone like it was a fucking twig and she'd bleed badly. Would she survive the infection? She shook as these thoughts played out.

"CONAN! ATLAS! HEEL!"

The dogs cowered and whimpered, their ears tucking back, and they backed away. A flashlight spotlight blinded her as clops of hooves came toward her. Ryan blinked rapidly and saw two horses coming right toward her. They stopped ten feet away. The dogs went to stand next to the horses, perfectly obedient.

Up on the horse sat a man in a dress shirt, tailored vest, and dress pants. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He held a shotgun of his own and it rested on his shoulder. He looked at her, first surprised, and then he smiled and moved his flashlight.

"Miss, it's dangerous to be out here in the dark."

Ryan shifted uneasily.

"I'm not afraid of the dark. People, on the other hand, is a different matter." She hadn't lowered her gun.

The man, though handsome, smiled even wider. That didn't make her feel any better about this. She didn't release her tense position on the trigger. It wasn't unnerving because it was a creepy smile. It was the opposite. His smile, even in the dark, was bright and shining and kind.

"And the person that was being chased by those things?" She nodded at the dogs. Big Danes. Atlas was the black and white one. Conan was dark brown.

"Oh, these are just my dogs. They're harmless enough," he said. His voice drawled with a southern accent. "They protect me."

"From what?"

"Well," he chuckled, "the world isn't as safe as it once was. If it's not the dead it's the living who are deceiving. Honestly, ma'am, I'm a good man, but I do protect what's mine. Don't you?"

Ryan flashed back to New Orleans for a brief second with Troy and then to when she lashed out at Kenny with her pathetic steak knife. She understood just fine, but she wasn't taking her finger off of the trigger. He let his dogs rip someone apart. She wasn't going to be next.

"I see I've alarmed you. That's not my intention. I do apologize for my poor manners. My name is Arnold Mayfair. My family and I own an estate just up that way."

Ryan let her eyes slip past to look at the direction he came from just for a second. He kept smiling. She forced herself to get past how charming it was. He just sent his dogs to kill somebody. She was glad she didn't see it because the sound would never leave her. That kind of thing was vicious.

"Why don't you come back with me? It can't be good, you being out here by yourself. We have beds and fresh food," Arnold said.

The offer was tempting just because of the bed part.

"I've been taking care of myself just fine," Ryan replied. She pulled the shotgun back. "You can be on your way."

"Well, I don't feel comfortable leaving you out in the woods all alone. Bad things happen out here," Arnold said.

"I don't feel comfortable walking into stranger danger," she replied. "And I'll have no qualms dropping you, your dogs and taking your horse."

Arnold's eyes softened and he chuckled. Any woman would be swept away by this man. He oozed power and, strangely, confidence. She wanted to believe you could trust people, but that wasn't a luxury anymore. Without Tuck or Reed, she couldn't trust anyone.

"You're quite a woman if you're willing to do that, not that I can blame you," he said.

Arnold swung a leg over and hopped off of his horse. The black mare nickered. He took a few steps until they were a few feet apart.

"What are you doing?"

"As I said, I'm not very comfortable with leaving you out here in the dark. So, where is your camp?" Arnold waited on her.

For many seconds, she just blinked at him. He was serious.

She walked back to the camper. If he tried anything she was filling him with buckshot.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Arnold stayed outside of the camper with his dogs. His horse was tied up nearby. He lit up a small fire in the stone pit and settled in the plastic lawn chair.

Ryan was inside the camper. The doors were locked. She didn't sleep and kept her handgun on the small end table beside the lantern. The shotgun never left her hands. She didn't know what this man was pulling, but she wasn't in the mood. Her heart pounded like a sledgehammer in her chest.

She hasn't seen life for weeks, and while she wants to be excited about seeing another living person and not an oozing, pussing, groaning walker that might or might not be missing a limb, she was more scared than anything. There were too many horrifying things he could do to her and all of them were playing over in her head. Being three times her size was intimidating too. If he tried to break in or worse, she was ready.

When dawn broke through the trees with blinding orange rays that split through the camper, Ryan came outside. The morning was already hot. Soon enough the camper would be an oven.

Arnold was still here and was giving his dogs water. She pulled out the cylindrical, cardboard container of grits from under the counter and made herself a bowl from the one pot and jug of water. Without butter, it was basically a bowl of slop, but food was food and this had some decent protein and iron in it.

"Good morning, Miss." Arnold greeted. He smiled at her, flashing her his dimples. In the daylight, it was most definitely charming. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his blue eyes sparkled. Her mouth was full so she just waved her spoon.

"Ryan," she replied automatically after swallowing down a mouthful of watery grits. "My name…"

"Interesting name."

Ryan moved a few steps. Careful ones. His dogs panted. They looked docile enough, but she'd seen _Cujo_ and _Cabin Fever_ and _Hostel 2_. It was nothing for them to turn vicious. She canted her head to one side. Then again, they looked pretty docile. Lazy even. She turned back to Arnold.

"I'm still not going anywhere with you. I've done well enough on my own. You don't need to save me, so you can turn and go on your way," she said. She cocked her shotgun for extra emphasis.

Arnold was unbothered by it. He just patted Atlas on the head.

"And that scar?" He nodded toward her chest.

Ryan touched her chest, feeling the soft, mottled line. She'd nearly forgotten about it. She inhaled deeply and then let it out. For a second, she thought about when Troy had touched it and then shuddered.

"Heart surgery. I'm all better, obviously." She gave him a thin-lipped smile.

"And strong-willed. That's good." He chuckled.

Ryan turned away.

"It's something," she muttered under her breath.

"So, what are we doing today?"

Ryan spun around at that, her eyes wide. _We?_

"No. No, _you_ leave because you did your weird duty to watch over me and then _I_ get on with my day," she said.

Conan cocked his head to the side, made a strange whining sound of confusion. Arnold arched his brow at her. He really did look like a southern gentleman. It was throwing her off.

"Ryan, my mama told me to always have good manners around women. It wouldn't be very—"

"I'm going to stop you right there because I can't bear for you to repeat that again," Ryan said with a half-snort.

Arnold chuckled at that. He ran his hand through his blonde locks and looked out across the flat campground. The willows were hanging especially low today. Their drooping branches swayed when the breeze picked up.

"What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm not the bad guy?" Arnold pressed his palm flat against his heart.

Ryan didn't reply at first. Her head was jumbled as she debated with herself. Tuck would've accepted instantly. He was good like that, not judging first. Reed would've kept his distance for a few days. Then there was Kenny who, with his own agenda, probably would've killed him. Troy would've outright told him to go. He didn't trust anyone, not even himself. He was always uncertain and he tried to act as if he could care less.

Her? She didn't know. She wanted him to go on his way. For them to part, even though she was partial to the idea of blowing off one's head and then asking questions later. But that meant she'd be alone. Again, she hadn't seen life in a long time. She looked off into the distance, her eyebrows pinching under the hot sun. She was already coated in a sheet of sweat. What did she do, because none of them were around? It was just her.

"Look, you have every right to distrust me. Until you trust me, I'm not going anywhere," Arnold said.

Ryan hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she rested the shotgun against the camper.

"Before you know it we'll be good friends." He flashed her that pearly smile again that she was sure would work any woman into a frenzy. She wasn't falling for it, but at this point, it seemed like he was less of a threat.

She spent the day listening to him talk. He asked her about herself. She limited her answers. Kept them short. And she always had one eye on him. He didn't look at her like the dirty grimmer that she looked like and she did look especially dirty. Lake water did only so much. She couldn't even fathom touching her hair. It was gross, but it remained in a messy bun. Her clothes that had once been a red t-shirt and denim shorts were now caked with sweat and dirt. One of her sneakers' soles was basically hanging by the heel, but luckily, she'd found duct tape and fixed it with that. Duct tape fixes everything. Polished Arnold didn't care about any of this. Or if he did he hid it quite well.

She fished and he helped descale her catch. She ate quietly, but he asked her questions. A few times, she looked at him utterly deranged. He talked like nothing in the world had changed. Like she was just somebody new, not somebody who'd said she steal his horse. As if walkers were not a reality.

She tossed two of the cooked fish at the dogs. They contemplated them for a moment before chowing down like starving locusts on greenery. Nothing was left. Even she didn't let a single bit go to waste.

As the afternoon faded to twilight, Ryan still didn't want to go and she'd more than encouraged him to screw off. That southern hospitality though.

By day three of him being here at the camper, he was starting to convince her. He was also beginning to get annoying. But she'd learned quite a bit about him. He was a storyteller. She'd even begun telling him a little about herself. That she was a twin. A bit about her

He lived out on a plantation. The way he described it, it was beautiful. It spanned for acres. Farmland surrounded it. An arc of willows hung over the main drive up to the house. It nearly sounded like _Gone with the Wind_. The more he talked about it, the more she was considering it. The plantation was sounding like a solid place.

 _I wish you here_ , she thought, but about who, she didn't know.

"Fine." She caved. There many possible reasons why, but she didn't know which one pushed her to it. The loneliness or the fact that he was making it sound so good.

Arnold's eyebrows rose, intrigued. His lips pulled up at one corner, but it didn't make him look smug. Just the opposite.

"I'll come see this grand estate," Ryan told him. "It might get you to shut the hell up."

"Splendid." He stood and offered his hand to her.

She stared at it and then took it. If this was some sort of trap she was screwed. Depending on how screwed, she hoped her heart gave out first. Before leaving the camper for good, she tossed her final note she'd used the last of the ink from her pen on. It wasn't anything special. Just something she'd been thinking about.

* * *

Alicia and Grant walked at the front. While their guns didn't have many rounds, they still made the good blunt instrument. A sign not that far back called for a town. Finally.

First, they crossed through a neighborhood, which wasn't all that bad looking. An abandoned car here and there. Suitcases littering about. Alicia paused at seeing a stuffed teddy bear for a brief moment.

While there were walkers dragging through it, they ganked several and cleared out a pale blue house to stay in. It was basic. Alicia could easily compare it to what her house used to look like. The living room with its two comfy chairs, the couch, and a coffee table. Picture frames were knocked onto the floor. The fireplace had never been used. The dining room. The kitchen. All the same. It was depressing. Of course, there were a few pieces of furniture knocked over and dishes on the floor that showed the hurry this family had been in when they left, but nothing that couldn't be put right. Alicia couldn't help but wonder if any of them that had lived here were still alive.

Grant and Strand went on the first watch as Alicia and Shay went upstairs to get cleaned up. Both women worked fast and talked little. All doors were left open. Privacy had quickly become something people weren't seeking very often anymore.

Alicia sat down in the master bedroom. The bed was made. She set her gun beside her. It was out of place in this mix of blue. The bedspread was medium blue, the color of denim, and it was soft. The walls were pale blue, like the sky. The carpet was dark, like night. It was all so blue.

Alicia stifled a sniffle. Yet another group split apart. She hadn't had time to think about Mom and Nick and whether they were even alive. The water had come so fast out of the broken dam. The only person to find and pull her out of the water had been Strand. She could still hear the rushing water and sometimes she could taste it. She flinched, remembering and suddenly reliving nearly drowning.

She knew she was lucky. Didn't even take common sense to know that. Strand could've left her out there to drown under the rough currents. He'd told her that he wouldn't have done it had it not been for her mom saving his ass at unexpected times. This was his paying her back, his way of paying it forward. And they could've split ways. As it turned out, they worked well as a team.

When had she turned to stone though? When had that happened? Troy. It was when she saw his face again. Mom had told her only just barely offhand that she'd gotten rid of him, yet to her surprise, there he was. Alive.

Did he deserve it? Who knows for sure. But he was alive. Well, who knows now, but still.

Alicia swallowed the sharp lump in her throat. Whether her family was alive or not, it was time to move forward. As best as one possibly could anyway. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she took the few minutes she had alone to mourn. Mourn the life she once had; the possible future. Mourn the people she loved and lost. Then like that, she stopped, tucked it away into a compartment that was clamped tighter than Pandora's Box, though with Pandora being able to open it rather easily that wasn't saying much.

The shower went off and a few minutes later and Shay walked into the room, wrapped in a green towel. She was a small, petite woman. Her features, like all theirs, were weathered. While Shay sifted through the cedar wood dresser, Alicia left her guns and shoes to go and get her shower.

Everybody got clean. Strand had facilitated a meal out of the kitchen with vegetables and noodles and fruit of the mixed variety and powdered mash potatoes. It was one of the most fulfilling meals she'd had since the alligator back before the wildfire.

Alicia had found a Pink Floyd T-shirt, with a photo from their The Wall album. She didn't listen to them much, but Mom had liked them.

"I'm no veggie, but this ain' bad," Grant said, cutting through the silence.

Alicia smirked and nodded.

"I especially like the potatoes." Alicia let the gob on her spoon plop with a watery splat back onto her plate.

They all laughed and it wasn't a fake laugh to fill the void. It was hearty and actually filled with life. It was strange.

They should've heard it. But, they didn't. They didn't hear the front door open. They went on, taking this moment to simmer in the short relief, seeing as it never lasts long. And, it didn't last long at all.

* * *

"Now, I must warn you, my family—they're on the traditional side," Arnold said over his shoulder.

Ryan resisted a snort. Her first boyfriend told her that, too. And his mother hated her with a fiery passion that could burn her at the stake. It was fun getting under her skin though. She was very Catholic.

Ryan was up on the horse with her arms around Arnold's waist. He was much broader than she anticipated. Conan and Atlas stayed within a ten-foot radius as she clopped along. She kept her weapons. The shotgun was slung across her back.

"She's like that with all of the people that we've come across. Like you, she's grown distrustful these days," he went on. "She comes around though."

"And you?" Ryan asked.

"I think we need all the help we can get if we hope to regain some semblance of the life we once had."

She liked that answer. It was honest and made sense. It sounded like Tuck.

The sun was cresting past the trees when they broke through a wide open field. White fluff floated in the air. She reached her hand out, her fingers just out of reach. It was the summer snow that floated upward. Cotton.

Beyond the field, a couple of hundred feet away, a large, two-story, colonial home—no, a plantation home—stood tall. Black shutters graced the windows. Large willows guarded the house in the front yard.

"Welcome to Mayfair," Arnold said. "We have more fields at the back. It'll be time to harvest soon."

"How do you take care of it all…" Ryan trailed off, staring off in wonder.

"Like you, we've found others and they've repaid us by helping out around here. There's actually a cabin not far off. With our growing numbers, we're also able to keep the area clean of walkers." Arnold kept talking, but Ryan was captivated by this place. It was untouched. It was an Eden.

Two women and a young gentleman, close to Arnold's age by the looks of it, but with brown hair, were already waiting outside. They were wearing similar clothes that were also nicely pressed.

"You go off on a chase and bring back a stray, Arnold," the man with dark brown hair said with a laugh.

"I was thinking nearly the worst," the oldest woman said. Her hair was blond but streaked with silver. His mother.

Arnold hopped down to the ground and then offered assistance to Ryan. She accepted and a strange feeling worked up her hand and arm when she took his hand, leaving it tingling. His sweeter-than-iced-tea grin didn't help.

"Why, honey, you're a mess," the older woman said to her. She tugged her forward and into the large house. "Let's get you cleaned up and fed, hmm? You're thinner than a corn stalk."

Before she could protest, Ryan was pulled along by the hand and ushered into a bedroom attached to a bathroom. She didn't have a chance to be on her guard. There'd been no chance to check the exits, look for a quick escape, or even at possible weapons.

"There are towels in the closet there and I'll have some clothes set out for you on the bed, dear," she said.

Ryan's mouth was left hanging open as the door closed with ease, leaving her alone. Ryan spun around slowly, taking it all in. The bathroom was clean and white and…clean. She placed her hands in the edge of the sink, leaning on it to give herself a brief moment to relax her back. Her reflection in the round, antique mirror was horrifying. Dirty was an understatement. She could be one of those walkers out there. Dried sweat coated her skin with layers of mud and dirt. Her hair was crumbled with dirt and mud. She couldn't even see where her hair-tie was.

In a cup on the counter, near the top of the sink, was an old razor, combs, and pair of scissors. Ryan pulled out the scissors and searched her hair until she found the crusty band and then cut it. Her hair didn't fall into waves or anything luscious like that. It didn't move from its sculpted shape.

Ryan moved to the claw-footed tub, its shower attachment also antique gold. Turning the faucet, Ryan was stunned to feel hot water come rushing out. Though it was hotter than hell out, the scalding stream felt really good. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the steam to the point that her lungs wouldn't expand anymore.

Slowly, she pulled her clothes off. Her ribs were severe. Her skin was dark and almost leather from the sun. Her feet cracked and blistered. Ryan hissed and winced as she settled underneath the shower spray. The knots in her muscles released and her hair splattered to her back.

Brown mud coated the floor of the tub, swishing down the drain. Ryan stood under the spray and watched until the water was clear going down the drain. Her hair fell down around her face. Water ran through her dark locks, loosening them. Her body ached.

Reaching up, she touched her chest, running her fingers along the length of her scar. It blazed a fiery red. It was touchy, like a bruise, but healed. Underneath, she could feel her heart beat and shuddered. What if she had died on the table? What if she died right now? She was alone. She sniffled.

For a second that was so brief it made her hiccup, she imagined hands gripping her shoulders, holding her steady. They were gentle, but she didn't know who they belonged to.

With as much ease as she could manage, she lowered herself to the floor of the tub. She pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed. She sobbed until there was nothing left. She missed her brother. She couldn't imagine that he might be dead. She just couldn't. She missed Sophia and Grant and Trick. She missed… _him_ , too. She couldn't forget how livid he looked when that psycho had a knife to her throat. It was scary as hell. Made her shake. She'd never seen anything like it. He'd been completely void. Empty of any care.

But, he'd killed that man and then the rest. She couldn't wait to get away. A person wasn't naturally like that. The dead were.

Then there'd been flickers. Something human inside of him and that scared her worse. She never knew what he was capable of. Now she wouldn't. They were gone. Good as dead.

She was alone.

* * *

"Don't you fucking move."

Alicia froze. Her eyes met Grant's. Both of them worked a silent plan. Attack. Survive. Repeat.

Her muscles tensed. The strain ached and the adrenaline was kicking in. She was tired, but it would have to wait. There were five of them. Men. They all had a weapon. Two with shotguns. One with a machete. The last two with handguns. They were cleaned up which meant that if they didn't live here, they had a place nearby. Their clothes looked pretty decent, too. Alicia bit the inside of her cheek. Before killing them, she was going to figure out where they came from.

At the same time, she and Grant shot up out, flinging their chairs back, and attacked the men behind them. Strand followed as did Shay. In mere seconds, they were down on the floor, their attempt to fight back pulverized. Grant took the butt of a shotgun to the head. Blood seeped through his hair. Strand breathed heavily and was muttering to himself.

Was this when they died? Alicia couldn't fathom it.

"I told you—" The barrel of a gun pressed into the back of her head. "—don't fucking move."

"Oy! Ye prick!" Grant growled.

"Mama Franny is going to be excited that we got more help," one of the men spoke. His southern accent was incredibly backwoods. So much so that Alicia cringed.

Help? What the hell?

"Oh yes. After the last few we lost. This is a great find," said another.

"No more hitting them, especially the girl. You know how Mama is."

They each had their hands tied behind their backs and then were dragged to their feet. The men inspected each of them.

"You should be proud. Can't imagine folks get it as good as this these days."

Strand scoffed.

"Good?" He said. A vein across his forehead bulged.

"Normally, you'd be killed on sight for trespassing on somebody's property and stealing their things, but not us. No. You'll be working in our fields." The one that had hit Grant spoke in a low rumble that was filled with glee. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was dull under his camo ball cap. "You'll kill the dead. Give us whatever we need. For that, you'll have a roof over your head and food in your bellies."

"I think we'll pass," Grant said.

The man laughed and the other joined in. Alicia blanched.

"You bitches think you're being given the choice." The cold, dead

The man behind Strand placed a hand on his shoulder, jostling him roughly.

"Be happy! You're back in your rightful place."

"Long live the south!" One man hooted.

Grant and Strand's eyes bulged from their sockets. These assholes…did they just imply…? Grant blanched. Rightful place. Slavery.

"Except you," said black t-shirt. "No, you'll go to the big house. Both of you."

He eyed Shay greedily. She shrank.

Alicia went cold. She used all her might, all of her strength, to resist breaking down in defeat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Heya! Been a little bit since I've updated, so here's a brand new chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 13

Troy started, his entire body flinching and hitting his knee off the dashboard. For a second, he had no idea where he was. Turning his head this way and that, the moving landscape was a blur of green. He slowed after a minute, though it took his heart longer to do so.

 _Ah right, Mississippi_ , he remembered. He ran a hand through his hair and down his face. Had he only closed his eyes for an hour? A minute? Seconds? He was still incredibly exhausted. Every breath was work.

"You okay?" Reed glanced over at him.

"Uh, yeah," Troy replied, gaining his bearings.

"Bad dream?" Reed snorted at himself. "Kind of a stupid question these days. I imagine everyone has nonstop bad dreams."

"I don't remember," Troy said, groggily, and meant it. His insides were trembling though. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the blinding overcast sky. "I'd guess it was though."

"Is it the blank spots? What you can't remember?" Reed gave him the concerned side eye.

Troy nodded. He remembered more of what had happened before he washed up on the Louisiana shore, but not everything, and he was disgusted. His stomach churned and knotted painfully. It was like he was somebody else. Sophia and Trick were asleep. Lindsey watched out her window.

"I'm envious," Lindsey said. "I wish I couldn't remember the things I've had to do."

Troy was quiet for a moment. His forehead creased, as her words weighed on him. His heart finally slowed, but he was still shaken. There was a certain loss of control, a sense of being completely unhinged that the dream reminded him of. That wasn't him. He didn't want it to be him. Sadly, he knew otherwise though and that hurt.

"I'm not so sure I _had_ to do what I did…" he said finally.

He propped his foot up against the dashboard as he started chewing on his thumbnail anxiously. Space was tight so his knee nearly touched his chest, but he didn't care. His mind was working against him, making him wonder and he didn't like wondering. Wondering was a dangerous thing, especially right now. It blurred the lines of what he knew and who he was. Continuing to recall everything was cutting into him.

Right now, this stress was unneeded on top of everything else, but it wasn't as if he could just sweep it away. It pounded against his temple, like everything else, and only one thing he thought about made it all dim. It was strange.

In the back, Basil slept in Sophia's lap, her luscious tail flicking. Her ears perked as if she sensed him, and she turned her head to look at him. After a few seconds, she carefully slipped through the space to the front between Reed and Troy. Troy looked down at her, amused by her big, curious eyes. She padded onto his lap.

Reed smirked.

Basil nuzzled into Troy's middle, hoping for attention. Troy reached for the small bag on the floor and pulled out a good-sized piece of jerky. He teased her with it, causing her to paw his face. She growled low though it sounded a lot like a mutant mewl, and nipped it from his fingers. He rubbed between her ears and on her neck as she chewed on the tough meat.

"How long have we been going?" Troy asked.

"Just a few hours. I saw a sign for a quick-stop that's not too far ahead. I want to check around for gas. We're starting to hit E. I figured we could stretch our legs, too."

"See any walkers?" Troy looked back out the window. There was still forest, but the occasional clearing came along.

"Very few." Reed's eyebrows scrunched together. Troy found that as strange as he did.

Only a few? They may be out in the country, but that didn't mean those things didn't wander.

"Maybe we're—" Lindsey started.

Troy cut her off quickly.

"Don't you fucking say it." His voice was sharper than intended. "Don't say we're lucky. It'll go south so fast that we'll go blind."

Lindsey mumbled under her breath, but he didn't hear what she said. He didn't much give a shit either. He frowned, mostly to himself. Lucky was a word that brought the devil down on you these days. Maybe that made him superstitious. He didn't give a damn. The last time he considered himself lucky, though it was only a thought, the Canopy went ablaze. So, he didn't think about luck anymore. He's just surprised when he wakes up to another day in Hell.

They passed by a sign. Whatever town it advertised was spray-painted over, but he couldn't make anything out.

"Ah, there," Reed said, breaking into a grin.

The quick-stop came into view and it looked like nothing more than a shack of boards held together by rusty nails and bubblegum. _Could be worse_ , troy thought. Basil sat up and put her feet up on the dash and shoving her tail in his face. Troy rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Get your hands off of me!" Alicia screamed viciously again. It only resulted in her getting gagged with a scuzzy dirty rag.

All of their weapons had been taken. They'd been walking for a few hours now, cooking under the hot sun. Their wrists were bound and they were tethered to horses with rope.

Shay had already dry-heaved twice, getting her dragged on her back a good part of the way.

Grant bristled as the men made remarks that twisted all of their stomachs. Alicia couldn't believe this was happening. This was the shit that you hoped died when all of the world went to hell. It was a waking nightmare. One that she didn't want to venture, but had no choice. None of them did.

The woods opened up to wide fields. Strand stopped. Sweat beaded his dark skin and made his hair glisten.

"My god," he uttered under his breath.

The fields were vast, but that wasn't what struck him with terror. It was the black and brown people that were in them, working. Only a couple of white ones were sprinkled among them and they were hollering and striking out with what looked like whips. This was slavery.

"You'll be our first whitey," Cole said to Grant, with a dangerous grin. He wiped his sweaty face with his black shirt. He'd been the only one to introduce himself.

"Why's that, eh?" The question was sarcastic and filled with venom.

"White don't mean American, Irishman. We'll stick you on potato duty."

All of the men hooted like it was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. Grant's shoulders tensed and he clenched his fists. His face turned a deadly shade of red.

"You son of a betch. You betta kill me because if you don't, I _will_ kill you. That I can promise," Grant told him. His tone was low and his eyes were nothing but fury.

Cole stopped laughing but kept grinning like the smug shit he was. He wanted to face off with him. It just wouldn't be now.

"I doubt that," he said. "We've been doing quite well since the world's righted itself."

"Cole, I can't believe you let him talk to you like that," one of the men said, feigning insult.

Cole's eyes glinted, his expression unreadable.

"Don't worry. We'll show them how it's going to be and why," he said.

Strand looked at Alicia. Both of them were beyond terrified.

"The main house isn't too far. Mama Franny will want to inspect them."

Cole led them down a path through the field. Those in the field, 'working', didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge them being dragged against their will. Most of the men were shirtless. Some were a deep shade of red from being outside for hours. Others had adjusted to the unkind sun and were tanned. Scars striped their backs. Leather collars were wrapped around their throats.

A tall, brilliant white house stood at the center of this plantation. It would've been beautiful if it wasn't so horrifying.

A sharp lump cut down Alicia's throat as she swallowed. She, like the others, was dehydrated. Her lips were cracked and her mouth was gummy. As they approached the house, a few men came outside, followed by an older woman. Her hair was striped silver and grey. She wore a pale blue cotton dress, though the men wore clean button-down shirts and pants. Their sleeves were rolled up and they didn't look as mean as Cole and his ragtag group. They looked thrilled to see them which was worse.

Cole pulled Alicia's gag from her mouth. The nasty taste of sweat and dirt remained and her mouth was too dry to spit any of it out. He took her chin between his thumb and other fingers. She yanked away, disgusted. His breath smelled like piss. He grinned.

"I see we have new visitors," the elder woman assumed to be Mama Franny said. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes flat. "Good."

"And you're the racist old bitch," Alicia spat. Her icy eyes could cut through this woman and anybody else they were so sharp.

Cole raised his hand, no doubt to backhand her, but the woman raised her hand. He paused.

"And you're the silver tongue," Mama Franny said. She looked at her from toe to head. "To the basement with you. We have no place or patience for sympathizers of these…"

With a look of revulsion, she gestured at Strand. She shook her head then, whatever kind of mood she was in ruin.

Cole pushed Alicia forward. She dug her heels into the ground.

"Girl, don't make me use force," he growled. His fingers dug into her arm tightly, threateningly, and grabbed a hank full of hair in his other hand.

Grant and Strand began to struggle. Grant got in one elbow jab before he was down on his knees, wheezing. Then they disappeared at Alicia as dragged around to the back of the house. She could hear the struggle that they still put up. Shay wasn't far behind her.

"Alicia!" She cried out.

Suddenly, they were separated. They were going through doors and Alicia was dragged down into the dark. Lamps lit the area, but still, she could barely see in front of her. It was rank of smells she was afraid to guess at, causing her to gag. Raspy groans permeated the silence aside from their footsteps.

"Mama reserves the boxes for those she holds the best hopes for." Cole laughed. "She also holds it for those who are the most resistant."

Boxes?

Cole shoved her forward and she stumbled into something hard at her midsection. He kept pushing her until she had no choice but to scramble up onto the ledge. It was slick and smelled putrid.

Cole shoved her legs in and then bars came slamming in her face. Alicia banged on the bars furiously. But she was trapped in a goddamn cage. They all were.

* * *

Ryan stepped into the bedroom, the white plush towel wrapped tightly around her body. An olive-green dress with cap sleeves laid and white buttons on the bed, no doubt a subtle hint. Her dirty clothes were still in a pile on the floor. It wasn't much of a debate that she chose her dirty clothes over that dress. They were spattered with dry dirt, blood, and other substances she didn't want to contemplate, but in a flash, she'd be more prepared to run and fight in them then a damn dress. Plus, it looked like some Amish parachute.

Outside, the sun was overhead. She could hear shouting but was unable to make out the words. It sounded intense but was over pretty quickly. She found herself tense.

There was a light knock on the door.

"Ryan?" Arnold spoke softly from the other side.

"Come in," she said. She took the elegant brush from the vanity, and starting at the tips, she worked her way up, brushing her hair. In the mirror, she saw the door crack open.

Arnold poked his head, his cheeks flushing pink at looking at her. Ryan had never seen that before. It startled her. She glanced down at herself. Looking at this, she definitely

"Dinner is soon. I wanted to come and see how you were settling in," he said.

He paused and then frowned at her, or rather her clothes. Her shoulders slumped. She wasn't happy to wear them either. Covered in who knows what, she'd still prefer it to the dress. No regrets.

"I'm not much of a dress kind of girl," she said sheepishly.

"I figured as much. That would be courtesy of my niece, Celia. I'm sorry," he said. "I can certainly find some clean pants and a shirt for you by this evening."

He left the room and returned with a pair of jeans that were, though stained from wear, clean and a blue T-shirt that draped over her shoulders and frame loosely. The front came to a V, showing some of her scar.

Arnold waited for her to finish up and then escorted her around the house, showing her the living room, dining room, and study. She was amazed at the number of books that lined the walls of that room. Several people buzzed around the house doing chores. For the most part, they were quiet and didn't acknowledge her. She recognized that all too well. She was an outsider here. They had no reason to trust her or welcome her though Arnold and his mother had.

"I would love to help out," Ryan said as they went outside. The air was warm against her face. It smelled sweet too. More people were out in the fields, tending to the crops. It was all quiet out there. Would she be working out there? She could handle getting a good tan. "I could work the perimeter?"

"Oh no you don't," came a screech. "You'll do no such thing."

Mama Franny—as she was called—was coming out onto the porch when she heard Ryan. Ryan gulped and looked up at Arnold pleadingly.

"Mama," Arnold warned.

The elder woman from earlier came from the porch.

"I could tend to the horses?" Ryan tried again. She was trying to avoid being put in the kitchen or on laundry duty.

"No. No no. Those are no things a young lady should be worrying herself with."

"I've worked with horses before ma'am. It's really no trouble," Ryan insisted.

Arnold sighed as Mama Franny gave her a disapproving once-over. Ryan bit the inside of her cheeks. So, not only was she expected to be in the kitchen, but she was also not wearing appropriate clothing?

"Well, you're here with us now. Things work a little differently than the savage ways you're probably used to," Mama Franny said. Her words came out as if cross. Her eyes narrowed in on her like she was suddenly a bug that needed to be squished.

"Mama," Arnold snapped. "I've been with Miss Ryan for a few days and she's a very capable young woman. I believe we're very lucky to have a woman that's so independent."

"Hmph." Mama Franny looked away. She was very dismayed with this.

"I just want to help in the ways I know I can. My skills aren't useful in the house," Ryan tried, sympathetically.

"We'll find something for you. I think tending horses is a great start," Arnold said, trying to destress the situation quickly.

"Fine." Mama Franny caved, but she still wasn't happy. "Supper is in a little while."

She stalked back into the house, the screen door slamming behind her. Ryan released the breath she'd been holding in.

"Don't worry about her. I told you my family was old fashioned," Arnold joked.

Ryan smiled, tight-lipped. She never understood why, but parents never liked her, aside from her own of course. So, this wasn't a surprise. It was less painful than some of those past interactions though.

Arnold steered her toward the side of the house, showing her out to the stables. Not far off was a cabin. It sagged, rickety and probably filled with cobwebs.

"What's out there?" Ryan asked.

"Ah, well," Arnold paused for a hiccup of a second. "We don't have enough room in the house for all of the folks we happen across, so we use the cabin. They help out and they get to stay out there and eat for free. They take care of the cabin themselves."

Ryan nodded and looked across the vast plantation. As she looked and looked, she frowned. There was something off, strange, about this sight. The people she saw…

"Here we are," Arnold said, cutting through her thoughts.

The stables smelled of hay and manure. It was wonderful. Ryan inhaled through her nose a few times. The huffs and raspberries of horses sounded out as if they were greeting her. This was better than walker smell. And certainly, better than only smelling the heat rising off of the asphalt.

She walked up to a stall. A brown mare with a white diamond on its forehead poked its head over the gate and eyed her. She held her hand up, letting it press its nose to her palm and rub its lips over the skin. Though it didn't discover any food on her, it nuzzled her for attention and she happily gave it. She petted sweetly along its neck, cheek, and nose.

"I believe this is the perfect spot for you," Arnold said. Ryan noted the drop in his voice and the softness in it. She turned. He stared at her with a kind and warm smile. "I do hope you decide to stay on. You'd be a great addition."

"Is Mama Franny saying that or you?" She spoke sardonically and regretted it instantly. Well, the regret was at 40%. Still, it was a shitty thing to say to the person who worked so hard to bring here to help you.

Arnold chuckled and made his way toward her. He stopped across from her and rubbed along the horse's neck.

"Me." His eyes met Ryan's right then.

Ryan's heart skipped over itself. She didn't know why either. She didn't look for relationships. Not out here. Nobody did. You never knew when you would lose somebody or lose yourself. Yet, her heart leaped. Hadn't been the first time either. It was completely ludicrous for it to do such a thing.

She lowered her head, directing her attention to the horse. Her cheeks felt hot and she knew it wasn't because it was nearly a hundred degrees outside. He wasn't bad looking. He looked like a real southern gentleman and talked like one, too. The kind from those romance novels her mom used to read. Complete works of fiction. And that's the reminder that kept her from overthinking it. Fiction. Fake. _That_ wasn't ludicrous.

"How about I show you where the supplies are? There are two others that work here in the stables and as you can see, we have quite the stock, so it'll be good to have another person on," Arnold went on, dropping the intense moment he'd brought on moments before. He wasn't wrong about the stock. Nearly every stall was occupied. "I'll introduce you to them at dinner. They're good guys. One is about as new as you are. We came across him about a month ago."

After showing her around and introducing each of the horses, it was dinnertime. The sun was past the trees and the sky was a beautiful fade from blue, orange cream, and lavender. The fields were empty. Ryan looked all around. There wasn't a one. Her brows furrowed. Weird.

The big house was alive with chatter when they got inside. People were in the parlor and sitting room, talking in excited tones. It was almost like a party. Ryan chewed on her bottom lip. There were a lot of people.

"Don't be nervous," Arnold muttered in her ear.

He walked her around. Everybody stared. That was to be expected since she was the new girl. It didn't feel like the first day of school, though. She looked at each person as a potential threat because they were. She didn't know them and they didn't know her.

"Oh, good! Come, this is one of the men that you'll be working with. The one I mentioned," Arnold said. He greeted the man jovially. "Kenny."

They smiled at one another like old friends but Ryan went cold. The man turned and she blanched. Kenny paused only a brief moment, but then smiled brightly at her.

"Kenny, this is Ryan. She's from out on the road," Arnold said.

 _Oh shit_ , she thought. She swallowed hard. The moment she slashed open his chest was still vivid in her mind. She thought for sure he was dead. That she'd killed him. At first, it was hard to accept, but she'd come around to believing it was the right thing. Yet, here he was. Very alive.

He could give her away; tell them what she did and they would dispose of her. In what way, she couldn't imagine. She kept her breathing steady but clenched her fists. In her boot, she still had her knife tucked inside.

"Ryan. It's good to see you again," Kenny said.

* * *

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	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, loves. I know it's been a while since I've updated. I apologize. Here's a brand new chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 14

Gray sky. Slate clouds rolled across it ominously, swirling into something dark and deadly. Possible tornado weather. Definitely severe. In the distance, purple lightning skittered across the sky erratically. It was ominous, but Troy couldn't help but hope it was nothing more than a storm. Hope was a stupid and useless thing to have and to hold even for something so small, but it was there. More than a thunderstorm and they would need better shelter than the tin box of a country shop-stop they discovered.

Troy had gone around the back of the little shack. There was an icebox and a generator. The icebox was shot, but the generator still worked. Basil wasn't far off in the backfield. She pranced around the field, chasing and eating mice. Or at least he prayed it was mice. Praying was also ridiculous, because who was honestly listening up there? Then again, praying did work. It irradiated those who didn't deserve to be alive, the overpopulation. The thought made him shudder. If that was true he'd be done and gone too. So, praying really was a crock of shit. Go figure.

And holding a philosophical contemplation made his head ache, especially the side. The sky rumbled low, almost as if agreeing with him. He touched the small indent at his temple. It throbbed lightly. The scarring was soft under his calloused fingers. It didn't hurt much anymore. It just pulsed when he got a headache.

No more than ten feet off, Sophie watched Basil as she stretched her legs. Trick and Reed had wandered off to a junkyard backtracked not too far down the road in search of gas. Lindsey was inside looking around. For what, he didn't know. He didn't much care either. Didn't care about her at all. He watched as Basil bounded at Sophie and she feinted left and ran past the flash of red fur to the right. Grub clucked as he now chased after too. The three of them were the oddest thing for sure.

Seeing the two of them play sent a strange pang to his chest. How could she be playing and nearly laughing right now? Troy shook his head. The answer was obvious. Compartmentalization. Don't think about it then you don't think about it.

He was lucky. Even when he did try to think about some things he couldn't remember them too well. What he did remember was enough to keep him from trying too hard. Troy ran his hand through his hair. He was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't quiet down. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The air was thick with ozone. The breeze was light, but enough. There was nothing stinging about it. It was humid. Behind his eyelids, he could see the flashes. A storm was definitely coming.

"You see that?" Sophie asked, in awe of the heat lightning that touched the sky violently. Her voice carried across the field, but not loudly. She didn't let Grub get too far away, though the chicken had become used to her and Trick. It never strayed far, probably because it expected food from them.

In the distance, on the horizon, were specks. From the way they bobbed along and took their time, Troy knew they were walkers, and they were coming this way. Another bad thing, but at least it wasn't close enough to catch onto them just yet.

The strays would be here in less than an hour. The storm too by the looks of it. Outrunning either was futile.

They weren't going anywhere.

"Lindsey!" Troy called.

She came to the back door, kicking her boot to the screen door, making it nearly fly off of its creaking hinges. Maybe it was because she reminded of someone. Someone he couldn't remember, but knew he wasn't too fond of. He reminded himself that he didn't need to worry about any of that anymore and to stop itching that curiosity.

"Go get Trick and Reed. Fast. A storm is going to hit." Troy said. His face hardened with an unreadable expression. Worry, seriousness, she didn't know and she didn't argue.

She returned with them half an hour later. It was spitting rain. Troy and Sophie had already covered windows and retrieved what they might need from the car. Walkers were within a quarter mile maybe less. They were groaning and chomping as if wanting to seek shelter with them. The lightning was closer too. Cracking loudly. Flashing even brighter. The hairs on his arms rose. There was a soundless buzz in the air.

A blinding purple flash struck across the sky in an unnatural zigzag and was followed by a loud crack as the lightning came down. It was gone before Troy could blink.

He gasped at seeing a walker get struck by lightning and obliterated. Parts flew everywhere. He'd ducked though it wasn't close enough for him to get hit by any of the charred, meaty debris. He shut the door and locked it. Then blocked it up with a metal shelf. Winds whipped around the small building, threatening to tear them down. Basil whined and wriggled. Sophie wasn't so hot either.

Basil squirmed and whimpered as the storm roared. Troy picked her up and tuck her underneath his shirt to shelter her. Her claws were sharp, scratching and digging into his abdomen and chest. He gritted his teeth, grimacing, but tried to soothe her nonetheless. It would've been easier to just break her neck. It wasn't like she was any real use to the group.

He couldn't do that, though. Just couldn't. Something about the way she relied on him. Troy flinched as she scratched his chest. Definitely going to bleed a little, he thought. Basil was only scared. He knew what that felt like and knew what it meant to react badly when feeling that way. Sophie grabbed his arm right at a loud crack split the sky. It made all of them jump. Water leaked from the roof in places.

Troy turned his head to Reed who stared straight ahead. He rocked forward and back in small movements and his jaw was locked. Lindsey and Trick were huddled together on the other side of Sophie. Grub squawked loudly and would run like its tail was on fire whenever lightning struck. Nobody tried to catch the chicken. There were low laughs when Grub ran into the wall though.

The storming came in spurts that lasted for hours. The thunder and lightning died away. The rains didn't. They lasted nearly a week. Luckily, they could fill old milk jugs with the fresh water from the rains and there was enough crap food to snack on. Stale chips and Twinkies—to which Trick said they never go bad—and jerky. Basil whined and paced and cowered low most of the time when she was huddling up next to one them. Trick slept hard for most of it.

"I don't know how he does it," Lindsey muttered at one point. "I'm so nervous that this shithole is going blow away or get washed away. Not to mention every little thing that bangs out there makes me think it's a walker."

"Could be," Troy said, smirking, knowing that would make her freak out even more. She glared at him.

"It's just a little rain," Reed muttered, on the verge of sleep as well. "We should all try to sleep."

"Pfft," Lindsey scoffed. She rolled her eyes. She was restless. They all were. But, traveling out in this wasn't a good idea.

"The rain is soothing," Sophie said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

She was unsuccessful. Reed peeled off his jacket and set it over her shoulders.

"You'll get sick," Sophie protested.

"I'll be okay," he told her with a small smile. That's when Troy saw her in him. Saw Ryan. They shared the same smile. He looked away.

They did begin to get low on food. Rationing was stretching more and more. And Troy was not about to eat somebody. He glanced down at Basil then over at Grub. They'd each been eyeing Grub guiltily, except for Troy. The chicken squawked and ran around. Troy looked over at Sophie. Her skin was pallid and her whole body weary. Lindsey and Trick, too. Hell, he was feeling it. They were starving. And he'd be damned if they tried to make a grab for Basil. He didn't know when but he'd decided Basil was not food.

"Can we build a fire in here?" Trick asked.

Troy looked over. He was staring at Grub, too.

"Yeah," Troy said and shifted Basil to Lindsey. She didn't go at first. After rubbing behind her ear, she calmed.

Troy inched over toward Grub. Reed rose to his feet and stepped carefully so that he was on the other side, knowing Grub would dart.

"Do we have to?" Sophie squeaked. The sound of the desperation in her voice was enough to say that they didn't have a choice.

Grub pecked the floor. Moving faster than Troy, Trick was on top of the chicken and a loud crunching pop sounded over the massive pattering rain. Sophie jumped but didn't make a sound. She covered her mouth with her hand. The sound burrowed down in each of them to some depth that left them uncomfortable and saddened.

"Quicker than a roadrunner," Trick assured her about snapping Grub's neck. She nodded. It was obvious that he hated this just as much as she did.

Troy moved around carefully, gathering cardboard and other miscellaneous things to light on fire and put it in the metal trash bin. The can only came up to his knee but it would do. There was lighter fluid, so that helped. Lindsey cracked some of the wooden shelves behind the register and tossed it into the can. Trick and Reed took care Grub. It wouldn't be much, but at least everyone would get some protein.

The fire didn't last. It kept burning up too fast. Troy had to keep lighting it. His fingers blackened and blistered, probably enough to tarnish parts of his fingerprints. The chicken wasn't cooked all the way through in places. The meat was still pink at the bone, but Troy ignored it. He gave one of the legs to Basil.

They all ate in silence. Sophie didn't cry. She picked at her wing, eating it slowly.

* * *

Ryan watched everyone around the kitchen. They moved with purpose. She hadn't seen a kitchen be busy like this since…she couldn't remember when. It was bustling though. She decided to stand still until told to move. Less chance of running into anyone that way. After so much rain, she was glad to see the sun. She couldn't stop looking out the window. The sunshine was beautiful.

Mama Franny still didn't like her working out in the stables. She thought of it as dirty work, and women don't do dirty work. Ryan compromised, by offering to help out in the kitchen as well. That got her to ease up but not by much.

"What's the occasion?" Ryan asked as she moved to the door of the pantry. She reached out to grab the handle, curious to see their stores when Mama Franny slapped her bony down over hers.

"There's nothing through that door but the dark cellar. Arnold and the boys have been working on it so that we can accommodate more guests. No sense in you goin' to poke around down there," she told Ryan. The smile on her face was wide and anything but kind. It actually frightened Ryan. She pulled her hand back and apologized under her breath, feeling like a reprimanded child.

"Now, why don't you help Celia with the potatoes?" Mama Franny turned back to her turkey and continued to rub herb over it.

The other three women stared, completely quiet for a few seconds as if Ryan had nearly broken some major rule and was getting punished. They were all stiff like she'd nearly discovered a secret or something. It was odd.

Ryan walked over to where Celia was cutting up red-skinned potatoes and picked up a knife. She followed Celia's lead and cut them up in wedges. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the cellar door though. Her curiosity poked at her inside.

"We found some more survivors," Mary said as if none of that happened, one of Arnold's younger sisters, the other being Celia here.

"This looks delicious," Ryan said in awe.

The dining room table was set with a turkey, mashed potatoes, salad, green beans. It was a Thanksgiving meal.

"And you grew all of this?" Ryan asked.

"All of it," Hank, Mama's husband, replied with a smile.

"Let us pray," Mama Franny said.

Ryan tensed, nearly jumping out of her skin when Arnold took her hand and a young man took her other one and then bowed their heads. Kenny sat across from her. She'd been keeping herself busy enough that she didn't have to interact with him.

She attempted to tell Arnold about him, but every time she brought it up, he said something about what a good guy he was. Kenny kept trying to talk to her, too, but she wasn't going to be alone with him.

As Mama Franny spoke, her voice monotone, Ryan glimpsed up. Everyone's eyes were closed, except Kenny's. He stared at her, his eyes fiercely intense with…fear? His eyes darted side to side really quick, checking that nobody else was watching, then he began to mouth something.

Ryan's nose scrunched. What the hell was he saying? Wet towel? Got beef? Mouth wisers? Savors? Her eyebrows shot up. The fuck?

Ryan shook head and looked down at her lap. It was better than looking at him. She so badly wanted to take her knife and throw it into his chest right now. The only reason she didn't, was because these people had been so kind to her so she didn't want to cause trouble and Kenny hadn't given her or himself up. He'd acted like they were old friends. It was for the best, but she still really fucking hated him.

So, maybe one morning, when he thought he was safe, she'd kill him. Feed him to a walker or something. _'Oh, I tried to save him, but he insisted on protecting me. It was so heroic…and tragic…and…'_ whatever. Nobody would really miss him and she wasn't all for killing people. In fact, she was totally against the death penalty. But, if any deserved it, it was Kenny. He killed Tuck and so many others. He probably got her brother killed. And Sophie. Troy. God, she couldn't even think about it. She couldn't even believe they were dead, but she'd never seen them, and the bayou…Ryan sucked in a short hiccup of a breath as her heart sank from thinking about them. It was his fault that The Canopy was gone.

"—Amen," Mama Franny finished. Everybody at the table echoed it.

Arnold took the quick opportunity to fill Ryan's plate for her. He'd been doing small things like that a lot. She didn't want to find it sweet but she did. He smiled at her. She felt her cheeks heat up as she smiled back.

"None of this baby-portion stuff now. We aren't starving," he told her as he set a full plate in front of her. So full that all of her food touched each other. Though her stomach growled, she wasn't sure she could finish it. She was damn well going to try. Starting with that turkey.

* * *

Grant was up, pacing across the small space. From wall to wall. Seven steps each way and each step made a heavy thunk on the creaky wooden floor. Bunk beds lined the tight space. There was nothing but a thin moth-eaten mattress on each. He'd been doing it for that last few days they'd been here, trying to think of a way out. There had to be one.

But they had no weapons. Alicia and Shay were in that big ass house somewhere. They had overseers on their tail. The guns and whips in their hands were no joke. Everybody trembled at the sight.

"We have to get out of here," he said for the fourth time. He ran his fingers over the leather collar around his throat. It was already chafing his red, sunburnt skin. It had faded greatly thanks to the fact that this place didn't want their 'property' blowing away in the storms. They'd been locked up in here for a few days.

Strand sat on the bottom bunk, resting his arms on his knees. His head hung with exhaustion. Nobody had much talked to them. There were seventeen others here.

"The girls are in there somewhere," Grant added.

"Yeah, you go out there and you get yourself killed, boy." It came from a black man. He sat, hunched over, in the far corner. He looked older than Strand. His frizzy hair was stark white and it followed around his jaw. A few others chuckled low. "Cole and his crew watch this damn cabin. You run out of here and you get yourself right killed by him and those bloodthirsty hellhounds they got."

Grant opened his mouth to protest.

"I know because you ain't the first ones to try." The man said. He had a southern drawl much like the people who brought them here. He was probably from the area. "I'm Jasper."

Nobody had really introduced themselves since they'd arrived. They'd been standoffish, avoiding the unwanted attention the two of them were getting from the wardens. Grant didn't much care. All he could think about was getting out of this and getting to Alicia and Shay. He'd lost too many people already. He wasn't ready to lose anymore. He blinked away tears of exhaustion before they could fall.

"Grant. This is Strand." Grant offered his hand and Jasper took it, giving a nod.

"Well, boys, you just fell into the wrong kind of hell, didn't ya?" Jasper didn't laugh, but looked at them with sympathy. "they are goin' to work us until they kill us. Then when they kill us, they'll put us in the black field."

An unwanted chill swept down Strand's back at hearing that. He raised his head, bearing a confused look that was mixed with horror.

"Black field?" He dared ask and already regretted it.

"None of us have seen it, but story goes—from those pieces of shit out there—that there's an underground tunnel underneath this plantation." Grant and Strand and even a few others were listening intensely. "And it's lined on both sides with walkers who were here on these fields before us. And they're hungry and desperate, reachin' out for contact."

Grant stopped breathing. Jesus, he thought, that's a feckin' horror movie.

"Oh, they'll let you try to escape if you really want to, these gilipollas will. You just take the black field. Go right down that dark tunnel and you get eaten. Those damn dead things line the whole quarter mile." said another man, joining the conversation. His Spanish accent wasn't so thick but clipped each of his words. He was Latino and looked to be in his mid-thirties. His skin was dark and golden. His T-shirt was in tatters at the hem and there was a hole in the side. "Zane."

He gave a curt nod to Strand and Grant. His stony gaze didn't lift any.

Grant nodded then shook his head with one thought. They weren't staying here. Not happening.

"I am not dying on a fecking plantation with these fecking hicks." Grant snarled. He looked at Strand.

The man was tired. They both were. Strand looked resigned and ready to give up. Grant's brow furrowed with worry that he might actually give up just like these people did. But, it was just the opposite. Strand looked up and his facial features hardened with determination.

"Oh, I'm with you. I'm not dying here in this infested hell," he said with robust. "But, we need a plan, and we need to find out where Alicia and Shay are."

"We aren't leaving without them," Grant affirmed.

"You two mad? You get your dumbasses killed," Zane said. He reared back like the two of them spoke blasphemy.

Strand stood right then and took a few steps toward the man. He shook his head at him, disappointed.

"Mad? You're the crazy ones for not trying to get out. We're in the middle of an apocalypse and you just succumb to a fate worse than that? This?" Strand waved his arm around angrily. "No, you're the crazy ones. I'd rather die trying than live in this fucked up reincarnation of slavery. I'm too sober for it and even then…" he shook his head. "Even then."

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	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It was dark. Alicia couldn't see a foot in front of her face. The cage they'd put her in was wooden and so small that her knees were pressed to her chest. Her muscles were well past cramped. There were moaning and groaning sounds mixed with greedy growls. They were raspy. The sound of walkers, but she wasn't sure. She could've just been hearing it in her head. But then she swore she could see movement in the pitch blackness. Were her eyes playing tricks on her?

Her chest hurt from the nonstop thumping of her heart rattling her like a bad engine. The sheer fear left her tense. How long had she been down here? She didn't know.

From time to time, something was shoved into the cage, slopping over her boots. She didn't know what but guessed it was food. She ate it, not knowing what it was. If it was poison, she would've been dead by now, not that she wasn't wishing for it. And if it wasn't the noises it was the smells. She'd already vomited twice. This place was disgusting.

She'd cried endlessly. There was nothing she could do and she didn't want to die. She wanted to see her brother, Nick, and mom again, though she was pretty sure that would

Was Strand okay? Grant and Shay? Was this the end? Locked up in a cage surrounded by god knows what? Alicia slammed the base of her fists against the wood again.

"Let me out," she rasped. Her voice was long gone from screaming for hours. She'd gotten out her death threats and rage and then she was begging to get out.

She croaked a sob. Death was taking its sweet time

* * *

Dinner left Ryan comfortably full. She hadn't been this full from a meal in so long she'd forgotten a person could feel this way. Folks were heading into the parlor for drinks and out onto the porch to relax and watch the stars. They did that here. Living in the tech age, Ryan didn't think about looking at stars. Not until now.

Cole and his little band of miscreants left earlier to do perimeter checks. Mama Franny's daughters went upstairs to bed while Mama Franny and her husband cleaned up. Ryan offered to help, but she wouldn't have it. The sparkle in her eye sent a strange feeling through her.

Arnold wanted to go for a stroll around the plantation. It was odd and a little unnerving. She couldn't stop thinking about the vulnerable, dark spots of the plantation walkers could wander from, but the idea was sweet in that southern gentleman way. He made her blush more than once. It wasn't love because that was a dead dream and nobody dreamed anymore. Not like that. And if they did they were lucky bastards. However, she didn't put the idea of getting some actual fulfillment out to pasture. Arnold was decently built: broad shoulders, muscular—probably from working outside all day. They weren't absurd, but well-defined. It was enough that she caught herself looking at him. He wasn't the first one she'd caught herself physically admiring. It was slim pickings all the way around. It was hard not to notice him. He was nice looking, too—a bonus. And there was nothing wrong with getting out a few serious kinks. These days, you took what you could get if circumstance arose.

As she went to go find Arnold out onto the porch, she was grabbed roughly by the arm and yanked into a side room. Kenny covered her mouth before she could form a sound of surprise or retort. Her eyes darted to the doorway. Nobody noticed them. He turned back to her. His breath was hot on her face. Sweat trickled down his temples.

"Just listen, okay?" He shook. His eyes darted around with paranoia. "I know we had a fallin' out, o-k? But just please, jus' listen."

He was terrified.

Ryan nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth but it still felt like it was pressed to her mouth. He waited a second before talking.

"You have to leave. Run. Run as fast as you can." The panicked look on his face grew. "These people are bad. They're just not right in the head. Real fucked up."

Ryan narrowed her eyes, wondering if this was a joke. She'd been here all week, working in the stalls from sunup to sundown with the horses and when she wasn't there she was in the kitchen with Mam Franny. She still wished she was allowed out to help with the perimeter or at least go out with the search party for new people. However, it was also a load-off. It took a weight from her shoulders.

Everyone had been kind and giving. She got to sleep in an actual bed and that was orgasmic on its own. Then the food. Tonight, was a celebration of all of the newcomers. They were crazy?

"Ha. Ha. I get it. You want this place for yourself," she said. She couldn't believe he was pulling this card. They'd been doing pretty well with avoiding one another. They told their story, omitting all of the shitty fuckery Kenny did and her stabbing him. "If you don't leave me alone, I'm telling them what a scumbag you really are."

She moved to brush past him, but he held her steadfast and slammed her back against the wall, knocking the wind out of her.

"You're not listening—not understanding." He growled, shaking his head.

"I understand that if you don't let go of me, I'm going to stab you again and this time you won't walk away." Her voice was low and menacing.

"They're slave owners, Ry. Real live slave owners," he said in a rush.

"Oh please," she snorted. "Like what? The south shall rise again!"

Kenny swallowed hard and nodded. The smile slipped from her face into a grim line. He was serious.

"I've seen it. They've got dozens of black, brown, foreign—anything not _us_ back in an old slaves' quarters not far from here. I've seen what they do to them." He shuddered.

Ryan tensed. There was no laughter in his eyes. Still just fear.

"No. That's—that's crazy," she said.

"We're deep in Mississippi. KKK territory. You seriously don't think racist pieces of misogynistic shit aren't still alive? That they aren't taking such sweet advantage of all of this?" Kenny said. "You need to get out of here. You can do it tonight when everybody is asleep. We'll sneak out the back to the stables and go."

"I don't believe you," Ryan said. Her teeth clenched, she glared. She shoved him back. "You're psychotic."

"Ry, I swear—"

"Shut up!" She stormed off.

She didn't believe him. He was lying. He's a liar. He burned down The Canopy. Killed Tuck and many others. Probably her brother, too. She refused to believe anything he said. But…

But as she went out onto the porch, she thought about that door in the kitchen that led down to the cellar. Mama Franny and the other women had a shared look of alarm. It made her want to go down there. She couldn't believe him.

Yet, a part of her did. Kenny was a hothead that didn't give a damn about how reckless he was. Now, he was so damn scared. She couldn't shake that.

"Is everything alright?"

Ryan looked up. Arnold stood at the base of the steps.

"Yes. I, uh, was just catching up with Kenny for a moment. He was telling me a little more about this place," she lied.

"Not all bad, I hope," Arnold said with a charming smile. "By this point, I'm kind of hoping you've decided to stay."

"Just mysterious." She replied to the first part as she looked over his head at the wide fields. "How do you take care of all of this? You certainly don't have enough people to here at the house."

The smile faltered, but just barely. It was enough for Ryan to catch. Fuck. There was something they didn't want her to know.

"We have more folks. They like their own space, so we do our best to accommodate," he said.

He pointed, gesturing past the house toward the edge of the woods. She could make out part of it. It looked decrepit and overgrown.

"There's an old cabin, just off the property. We give them space to live on, they help us with our crops. Equality at its finest." Arnold gave her a heartbreaking grin that could melt hearts if she didn't feel creeped out about it now.

"I guess so." She tilted her head. "Too bad I haven't gotten to meet any of them."

"Nah, they're private people," he told her. He offered her his hand and they strolled off into the cotton fields. White tufts floated about, like little white clouds. It was mesmerizing, yet deadly to anyone with bad allergies.

* * *

Reed stared at the car with his lips pursed tighter than a knot. It was fried. That and a large branch was somehow lodged through the passenger side window and poked out through the windshield.

"Damn. I knew we got some close strikes, but…shit. The car? Talk about rotten fucking luck," he said.

"Looks like we're walking," Lindsey said. She looked up at the sky.

And they did. For hours. Luckily, they'd kept their packs in the shack with them. So, losses were small considering. Sophie was extra quiet, still mourning Grub. It was understandable. Reed nudged her in the shoulder.

"We didn't have a choice. You know that," he told her. "He saved our lives."

She nodded, though her head still hung low with her chin nearly touching her chest. She'd cared about those chickens so much and he'd been the only survivor after The Canopy. She'd lost a friend.

"I know." Her eyes wandered ahead of them. Basil was just ahead. Her ears were up, alert. She was searching. Her nose twitched.

Suddenly, they watched her dart off like a red bullet. Troy, quiet these days, didn't stop walking, but his eyes remained peeled for anything that wasn't right. Basil disappeared in the high fields and they moved as she scouted. Zigzagging this way and that. She was chasing something. She stopped and a few seconds later came out of the field with a dead rabbit between her teeth. She dropped it on the road and then sat back on her haunches, panting.

Trick stopped in front of her. His eyebrows rose, impressed by her skill.

"You been training her?" He called out to Troy.

"No."

"Well, she's trying to please you or something." Trick smirked. Basil trotted off and settled in stride beside Troy. "This'll feed us today."

Troy stopped and turned. He looked down at her. She didn't look like she was out to please anyone. The fact that she was so docile for a naturally wild animal was surprising. That didn't have anything to do with him though, did it? He didn't really do anything at all.

"When we cook that thing, she gets the first piece," Troy said, nodding at the adult rabbit that Trick picked up. She caught it. It was only fair. He said to Basil, "Let's go."

She trotted ahead of him, keeping her ears perked. She was focused. After a couple of steps, she darted into the field again. The pale stalks swayed as she bounded them. Then suddenly she shrieked. Three guns rose up, pointed in her direction and Troy rushed into the field without a second thought.

"Troy!" Reed snapped.

Basil ran between Troy's legs, her tails tucked under her. Troy kept forward, only slower now that she was safe. She whimpered but was uninjured. She was just scared.

A raspy groan chilled Troy. He couldn't see the rotting corpse it came from, but it was nearby. His hand on the grip of his semi-automatic tightened. There weren't many bullets in it. The raspiness was closer. Troy trained his eyes to the ground. He saw a blackened hand missing two fingers reaching out for his boot. Attached to it was a body. Well, the top half of one that was even more scorched than its arm. Troy wrinkled his nose. This thing was still burning and it smelled disgusting, scorch and rot. Must've gotten struck by lightning in that storm. He was surprised that it was still moving around. It should've been obliterated. Taking out his knife, he finished it. The blade sunk into its head with a crispy crunch.

"Just a jump-scare," Troy said aloud.

Trick appeared by his shoulder. His nose wrinkled.

"Dude, that is one extra crispy dead dude. Definitely not original recipe." He turned away after that.

They continued on. The road seemed endless until a sign came up, one for a campground in twenty-three miles. The sun was overhead and it was hot. Lindsey was a light shade of pink already while Trick and Sophie were turning a deep olive.

"There could be good tree coverage." Lindsey made the comment.

"Think we make it by nightfall?" Troy asked.

"Maybe," Reed replied.

Willows draped their branches in arches over the road. Some leaves dragged the ground. Old grooves of tire tracks dug into the dirt road. They followed it on wobbly feet. They were out of water and completely exhausted. Three miles later—or so Troy guessed because he was way out of his depth now—they'd made it to the campground. Underneath swaying willows and with a lake out ahead of them was bare ground. Empty. Dark. Quiet.

"Wow," Lindsey muttered.

Reed pointed.

"There. What is that?" The last tinges of light were fading. Reed frowned.

There was something bulky in the distance. It was a trailer. A truck was hitched to it. They all stopped fifty feet away. Basil circled around Troy's feet, staying low to the ground. If he started fighting she was on his side. Her ears were cocked back. A low growl filled with warning came from her.

"Anyone in there?" Reed called out. "There are six of us and we're armed, but we mean no harm."

No answer. Just the creak of the wind rocking the trailer a little. Reed looked at each of the others. No one moved. Troy was laser-focused on the trailer. He didn't even look like he was breathing.

"Is anyone in there!" Reed called out again but more firmly.

Nothing.

Troy inched closer. Sophie hissed at him, but he ignored her and kept creeping closer. He hunched down low as he came up along its side. There were no lights on inside. The small fire pit was all ash.

Cautiously, he grabbed the rusty door handle and yanked it hard, whipping the door open. He couldn't see jackshit, but he still tried. There was a fluttering sound from the sudden whoosh of air from opening the door. A few papers came flying out. He watched them warily as if they'd attack him. They were pages from a book.

His tension eased after a few more seconds of silence. Anymore, you couldn't be too safe. The others walked to meet him. He picked up one of the pages on the ground. The majority of it was blacked out. Letters were left alone to make out words. He frowned.

"Who thought of coming out here?" Trick said.

"Whoever it was, was smart. Nobody out here and there's a good source of water and food," Lindsey said.

"What is that?" Reed asked, looking over Troy's shoulder.

Troy shrugged.

"Psycho-bullshit," he mumbled and handed the page to him.

Sophie had settled on the log in front of the ash pit.

Reed stared at the paper intensely. He stopped breathing. His face relaxed with shock.

"No…" he made out. "This came out of there?" He looked at Troy, his eyes boring into him intensely.

Troy knew that look. He took an uneasy step back. Reed didn't get like this, not unless it regarded Ryan.

"It came flying out of the trailer," he told him.

Reed bound into the trashy, metal box in one leap. The place shook. Troy followed, but nobody else did. The place wasn't very big. However, as he looked around, it was pretty clean. For what it was anyway.

Papers were tacked along whatever open space there was, on walls and cupboards. They were blacked out like the one Troy had picked up, and Reed was ripping them down and reading them. At first, he just mouthed the words and then he was whispering over his breath and then he was talking aloud and excitedly.

"You find this then you know. I was here. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm making it. I hope to find you soon." Reed was on the verge of tears.

He ripped another one down from the wall.

"The days are long and boring and lonely. I talk to myself too much. My closest companion is the wind. There's been no rustling for weeks, but the nightmares shake me awake. I wish you were here. Wish you alive."

Another one.

"I think I'm going crazy. This is the safest, yet most dangerous place. I close my eyes and the place is swarming with dead. I open them and I'm alone. I almost crave their company…Wish I was more poetic."

"I don't get it," Troy said finally.

"It's Ryan," Reed said, shaking the papers.

Troy's eyes widened as his heart lurched painfully. It couldn't be.

"How can you be sure?"

"There was this book I gave her…" he trailed off then shook his head, not wanting to explain it. "It's her. She would do this if nothing more than to leave some sort of trail, some sort of proof that she was here..."

Troy stared around at the walls. She was alive? He stopped at a nearly completely black page. Only four letters were untouched. _Jack._ He crumpled it in his hands and shoved it in his pocket. This was the closest they'd ever been to finding her.

Reed ripped every single page down.

"How long ago do you think she was here?" Troy said.

Reed shook his head.

"I don't know, but maybe she'll return," he said, sounding too hopeful suddenly.

Troy glanced around. This place was empty. There were no provisions.

"I doubt it. This place is cleaned out. She didn't even make the bed. She's not coming back," he said.

Reid walked out of the trailer and then called out for him and Trick to grab firewood. They were staying here tonight. It was the best place they'd found by far.

Troy stepped outside. He closed his eyes and held his breath. It was strange. No sounds out here either. The quiet was so loud.

A small fire was going in no time. Sophie and Basil went inside to bed instantly. Reed was passing pages around the fire for everyone to read. Some were about each of them specifically, except for Troy. Not a one. Well, except for what he'd hidden. Just _that_ one.

"I can't believe it," Lindsey said.

"I can," Trick said with one of his lazy trademark smirks. "She's a fighter. A survivor."

"She should've died three years ago," Reed said. "She's definitely a survivor."

"Think we'll catch up with her?" Lindsey asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"We don't even know where she is. She could've left yesterday, last week, last month. She could be anywhere from ten minutes out to three days. That's one mile to fifty," Troy said. "We won't find her."

There was nothing but the crackling of wood over the flames of the fire.

"Way to kill our happy buzz," Trick said. He chuckled. "We'll find her."

"Whatever." Troy shook his head and stood up. He walked around the trailer toward the lake.

There was no way. After the dam, and before it, he'd lost everybody. He never found them. Well, Alicia and Strand found him, but it was a complete accident. Actually finding Ryan? Not happening. It was sheer luck they even came across one of her roosting spots. When you got lost, you didn't just magically get found like some damn fairytale. Odds are, you adapted and sought out a new place to fit in, just like he did.

He couldn't stop the fiery anger he felt. He wanted to believe that they could find her, but it was ridiculous to hope. Hope got people killed. Hope made them reckless. People shouldn't ever hope. Hopes were constantly let down.

He seethed, staring out at the water. It wasn't some gorgeous view. Though it was a clear night, the lake didn't glimmer like some movie. It was just a dull, murky lake and the only thing he could look at. There was nothing serene about it either. He imagined there was a decent population of snakes in it.

"Way to be a dick." It was Lindsey.

Troy didn't respond, not even with a shrug. His gaze remained hard.

"You really cutting Reed like that?"

"She's probably dead. Better to accept it. He doesn't need to go on some chase and get everybody killed."

"So that's what you think about her?"

"I don't think anything. It's a risk to chase after ghosts." He struggled to keep his voice even.

Lindsey scoffed.

"Right. As if you don't care." Her tone was sardonic. It pissed him off.

He spun on her.

"Everybody I cared about is dead. I killed them." He paused so that she could let that sink in and because he wasn't sure if it was true. It sounded true when it came rolling out of his mouth. "I'm alone with no one. So no, I don't care."

"Then what the hell are we doing? Is it even worth trying to survive…" she trailed off, lost with the depressing thought.

Was any of this worth it without trying to have the ones you care about here? Why do any of this? Survive. Live. What were they trying to achieve?

Good question. Why bother? He closed his eyes and tilted his back.

"It's okay to be upset," Lindsey said. "But don't turn her off yet."

She turned around and went back to the fire, leaving him there. He really didn't like Lindsey. She was a real pain in the ass.

He was trying not to, but every part of him told him to let her go, let it all go. To turn it off because that's how he'd survive. Troy closed his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he said, "No."

It was harder to refuse flipping that switch inside, but he did. He wasn't succumbing to hope, but he was refusing to keep going on utterly numb inside. It wouldn't lead to anything good. Something brushed his leg, yanking him from his thoughts and making him jump. It was Basil. She sat. Her tail swished behind her.

"Sneaky little shit, aren't you," he mumbled. He admired the little hunter.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Arnold had walked Ryan back into the main house. It was pretty quiet. The clang of dishes being washed, dried and put away came from the kitchen. The lights were low. Mostly everyone was in bed or out on the perimeter. Only a few were in the parlor relaxing. Arnold even walked her upstairs. Though it was unnecessary, his room was only a few doors down.

"Thank you," she said. "Tonight was the most normal I've had in a very long time."

"That's a compliment if I've ever heard one," Arnold said. There was that charming southern grin playing on his lips again. She could imagine easily what they tasted like.

"I must say," Arnold said, "we've only known each other for a few weeks, but I do like you."

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "Hm."

"Dare I think I've rendered you speechless?"

She grinned evilly right then. It was on rare occasion that she'd been knocked speechless. This wasn't one of those times. Right now was just a silly game.

"Certainly not."

He took the cue and leaned in, kissing her carefully on the lips. She pulled back almost too quickly.

"Is it okay?" She asked. "To be doing this while the world is ripped apart at its very seams."

"Why not?" Arnold replied.

She didn't have a response, so she kissed him this time. He wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, pressing her to him, and opened the bedroom door behind her, pushing her inside.

* * *

Shay sat on her cot. It was grungy nasty and smelled dingy, but better than sitting on the floor. There was only another girl in the room. Her skin was darker than cocoa and ashy. Their two cots, which were also worn with holes, nearly touched. The girl cried most nights, sounding like a whining puppy. Shay did not. She was furious. They only let them out when the house needed cleaning when barely anybody was around. Otherwise, they were animals, locked up with shackles around their ankles. The metal chaffed her skin raw and bleeding.

"Be quiet," Shay groaned.

The girl, Tamlyn, sniffled.

"No wonder they have power over us. You're giving it to them," Shay said.

"You don't want to know what happens when you try to act like you have power. What they will do to you," Tamlyn spoke meekly.

Shay's heart rattled in her chest. She swallowed. The chains on her were only a slight indication of that power. They were old fashioned shackles. She'd tried to get out of them for a while after arriving. Her wrists were raw.

"I've seen them whip people. Drag them behind a horse. Hang them. If you run, they'll either send the hounds or stick you below. You don't ever want to go below."

Below. Where Alicia was. Shay prayed she was still alive.

"And God forgive if they think you're pretty." Tamlyn shuddered, letting out a whimper. "They won't ask."

Shay blanched. Holy fuck. Really fuck. Her stomach turned over. These people were real-life slavers. No, they were worse. Worse than anything on this planet, even walkers. They were monsters.

"We're just things. Just play the part and you live," Tamlyn said. "Hopefully."

* * *

Ryan sighed contentedly as Arnold traced his fingers over her back. Her body still thrummed, partially from the southern heat and partially from their late-night activities. She felt more comfortable lying on her stomach, hiding her scar. Though it was dark, she was still self-conscious about it, which was a first. Then again, it had been a long time since she'd gotten any. Could she really complain and be prudish like this?

As if in response, Arnold kissed her shoulder. She tensed unintentionally, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I have to head out and join the night rounds. Cole says there are some walkers moving in. Best get them before dawn," Arnold said. His voice was a low rumble. "I will be back soon."

Ryan sighed softly, pretending to be nearly asleep. The bed shifted as he got up. After dressing he slipped out the door.

Ryan rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

"He's good," she mumbled to herself. She played it over her in her head. There was a knot of anxiety in her stomach, like a peach pit.

She couldn't stop thinking about what Kenny had told her. He had been so frightened. And Mama Fanny all but bit her when she was going to go down into the cellar. She'd thought about that once or twice.

There was only one way to put this all to rest. She wanted to squash that nagging.

Ryan sat up and picked up her clothes from the floor then got dressed. She got to keep her knife. Self-defense in case any walker snuck up on her while she was out in the stable. She tucked the blade into her boot.

She was going down to the cellar to see for herself what was down there. She counted on it being nothing because Kenny was a dumbass nutbag.

Opening the bedroom door, she paused, listening. The house groaned, almost as if snoring. There were no other sounds. She sneaked down the hall, down the stairs, and tiptoed into the kitchen. Grabbing the doorknob of the cellar, she jiggled it. Locked.

Ryan frowned. Locked? She canted her head once more. Still silence. She fiddled around in the drawers, finding a fork. She bent the prongs and jammed them into the keyhole. Tight fit, but enough that she could maneuver the lock and… _click_ …unlock the door.

"Let's see what mama's hiding…" Ryan mumbled. She grabbed a candelabra from an end table that held two half-burnt candles. Grabbing a match from the little matchbox next to it, she lit them and headed down into the basement. It was pitch black. Ryan's eyes were wide, but she still only saw as far as the dim candlelight could reach which was maybe a foot in front of her.

She stopped at the bottom. A scratching sound that sent uncomfortable chills down her back pierced the darkness. There was a door to her right. Cautiously, she reached for it. Her stomach tensed as her nerves sprang through her like static electricity. She didn't like the not knowing part of this. Anything could be down there. _Scratch_ … _scratch scratch_.

She opened the door. The only sound to come out of her was a horrified gasp.

* * *

"You should be asleep right now."

Troy had gone inside the trailer to check on Basil. Sophie was propped up, reading a book by flashlight. It was one of those crank-it lights, with a radio attached. The light flickered. She set her book down on her knee and began cranking the flashlight lever again.

Troy looked at the book. It was a thick one. The title wasn't a classic or anything smutty. It was one he'd heard of, but not one he'd ever picked up, not that he'd had any time or permission to read very much or very often. This one was considered sacrilege in his family anyway.

After she finished, she tucked it back in its spot under her armpit and continued reading. Basil slumbered at the end of the small bed.

"Don't stay up too late. You need rest," he told Sophie.

"M'hm." Her voice sounded far away and not at all present. In one and ear and out the other.

Troy frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. His chest tensed. It would be easier if she actually listened to him. She'd stay alive if she did…

The thought escaped from him. His shoulders relaxed and the sudden spike of irritability vanished.

That book was all she had keeping her sane right now. Who was he to rip away because of insecurity? Because she wasn't actually hearing him? He released a deep breath. He couldn't do that. Couldn't let that ugliness resurface. He wouldn't. He'd made mistakes the last time it did.

Troy exited the RV. The small fire was barely burning. Trick and Lindsey were mumbling to each other. Reed was passed out in his chair. Troy was past the point of exhaustion. His eyes were dry and heavy. His muscles ached.

He made his way out to check around the perimeter. Well, what they were considering their perimeter. He couldn't stay in one spot. He was too antsy. Plus, somebody had to stay awake and on watch.

* * *

Grant peeked out the front window of the cabin. The glass had been busted out a long time ago. Horses were trotting around the property. They had night watches. Grant seethed. If they were going to get out of here it would have to be together. Otherwise, they wouldn't make it. They couldn't kill all of them. Both he and Strand figured that one out. If they killed all of them then there was nobody to tend to their fucking crops.

 _Assholes._

It wasn't as if they were getting new slaves every day. God, that word…it was sickening. It made him want to puke.

People were becoming scarce. Those bigots needed them.

"Soon," Grant said. His glare didn't lessen any.

He back away from the window.

Strand was surrounded by more people than he was yesterday like he was telling a great story around a campfire, one of a magnificent battle or something. They were listening to him. Good. He had one of those voices that made people want to listen. He seemed to just get the urge to want to help other people besides himself. Maybe part of that was because pageant princess was somewhere around here getting tortured and he felt some sort of guilt for it. Guilt and rage. Hell, they were all feeling a bit of that and soon enough it was going to break loose.

* * *

Troy walked along the lake's edge. The water lapped the muddy shore. The air was quiet which was odd. They hadn't seen any walkers actually.

"You must be tired."

Troy stopped and turned. Reed came up beside him.

"Surprisingly, no," Troy replied. "Pretty sure I'm long past that."

"So you might as well be dead," Reed joked.

"Probably." Should be, he finished in thought.

"I was wondering," Reid said, ponderingly, "You knew those two—Alicia and Strand."

"Not really. I don't know Strand at all. Alicia…" Troy didn't finish. What could he say about her? That she was ungrateful? Spiteful? An outright bitch just like her mother? She was cold. She did hate him. She was right to. The others should've followed suit.

"She's a handful," Reed commented.

"She is. But, she's strong. Cares a lot though she hides behind her _delightful_ disposition." Troy didn't need to look back on his memories for that. It ebbed off of her. "You don't mess with family."

"I get that," Reed said. "Get that really well."

Ryan. Of course. And to her, everyone was family. Family never meant blood to her. He saw that.

Troy paused, even in breathing.

"Look, Ryan could be alive…" He bit his bottom lips carefully choosing his words, not just to avoid getting punched in the face, but to avoid how permanent they could sound and feel, too. "There's no possible way we could really find her. Even with being able to track, her trail is all but cold."

"You were right about some of it," Reed admitted after a few minutes. "We may never find her. I don't believe she's dead, though."

Neither did Troy, but he didn't say that.

"Maybe we'll see her again," Reed said. "But…" he struggled with what he said next, "maybe it's time to find a place to settle."

He shook his head angrily.

"I just hate giving up on her. On everyone—Grant, Shay…even Alicia and Strand."

"It's not easy. Adaptation never is," Troy said. It was a hateful thing to say, but true.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

* * *

"Shay?" Ryan's voice trembled as she entered the extremely small room.

Shay hadn't moved from her cot. She and her roommate stared up at her half terrified and half-frozen in shock.

"Ry? Is that…" Shay was up, with her arms around Ryan's neck before finishing the sentence. She trembled, sobbing. "Oh my…god. You're really here."

Shay pulled back and wiped her tear stricken cheeks.

"What are you doing down here. How come I haven't seen you around?" Ryan asked.

Shay tensed, her eyes narrowing in fear.

"You don't…but you had to of… that's why you're here, right?"

Ryan shook her head, confused.

"Words, Shay. Use'em," Ryan said.

"Those racist assholes up there are keeping us up locked up. They enslaved us." Shay all but snarled.

Kenny's words came flooding back. The jackass was right? Ryan felt utter disgust.

"That doesn't make sense. I've been here for two months. I haven't seen anything."

"Then open your fucking eyes!" Shay exclaimed. "How do you think they're taking care of this place. How you're getting all that good food, clean clothes? These are slavers. The south has risen again and you and me and Grant and Strand…god, Alicia! We're stuck right in the fucking middle!" Shay cried angrily.

Ryan's eyes enlarged. The others were here. Her heart jolted at the news.

"The others?" Ryan rushed out.

Reed? Troy? Were they here too? Sophie?

"What about—"

Shay cut her off quick.

"I don't know about Reed and the others, but if this place is so big that even you didn't see what's happening then who knows," she said. She grabbed Ryan's shoulders firmly. "Look, Alicia is down here too, but I don't know where. She stopped screaming two weeks ago. You have to see if she's alright."

"I can't leave you here," Ryan said, taking her hand.

"She can't leave me here!" the roommate said at the same time.

Shay turned back to her, glaring. It looked like wasn't the first time either.

"She'll come back for us." Then back to Ryan. "Go get her. She's in a worse spot than any of us right now."

Ryan didn't budge at first.

"Shay…"

"Really. Just go help her. They said something about teaching her to behave and learn. I don't know what it was they did, but you have to find her," Shay said. "Come get us afterward and we'll get the hell out of here."

Ryan nodded. They hugged again, longer this time and Ryan left. She didn't want to, but Shay wouldn't have given up the first rescue if she wasn't scared. She cared about others more than herself.

Ryan was quiet upon closing the door. She crept further into the dark, damp basement. Her heart thudded painfully. Though it wasn't really her heart, was it? It had belonged to somebody else until she commandeered it. How strange it was.

The raspy groaning sound grew. A snapping sound, like bones breaking, could be heard now too. And ragged breathing. What the hell?

In the dimming candlelight, a wooden table came into view. There were implements and tools on it. Most were rusty or had a crusty dried substance on it. Ryan shuddered. Blood. It was blood. She went ice cold at imagining Arnold being a part of this. She didn't want to believe it. He'd been so kind and welcoming.

She moved further into open room.

"Oh my god…" Ryan covered her mouth in horror.

Suspended cages from wooden ones to iron ones and a mixture of both hung in the room. There were six of them. Two of them held dead, rotting bodies. They were double killed. In another, was a shivering form.

"Pageant princess?" Ryan whispered aloud.

The person flinched.

"Fuck you! I'm not joining you! You're sick and disgusting and you're going to rot in hell!" Alicia tried to scream. The words were hoarse and raspy.

"Pageant princess," Ryan snapped. She walked around the cage to face her. "It's me."

Ryan glanced about to make sure there was no one around. She swallowed back a shriek when she faced a dark tunnel-way. The raspiness and snapping source came from there. Lining both walls were walkers. They were tied by ropes and chains and less than a foot apart from each other. Most were missing an arm or both. She couldn't see the end of the tunnel.

Arms wrapped around her. Ryan jumped and shrank back.

Alicia reached out for her.

"You're here. You're here! Get me out! Please. Get me out now!" She cried relentlessly.

Ryan looked back at the tunnel. She could take Alicia upstairs and out. If they got caught, she'd be sharing a cage down here with her or worse. Ryan had no intention of discovering what worse would be.

The padlock on the cage door was steel. Ryan set the candelabra down on the nearby table and looked at the implements. Screwdrivers, hand drills, hammers, chisels, a strange collar with a two-pronged fork attached. Other creepy shit, too, like shackles, barbed wire and so much worse. Ryan felt sick.

She grabbed a chisel and jammed the padlock against the cage, bending it. Using all of her strength against the cage, the metal stretched but didn't break. She looked at the chain. It was rusted. An idea popped into her head. She grabbed a crowbar off of the table and then paused at a gleaming in the light. It was Alicia's butterfly knife. She swiped that too, tucking it in her pocket. The hooked end of the crowbar was crusty. She avoided touching it.

"I saw this in a movie once," Ryan said as she slipped the bar between the chains and began twisting.

Cranking tighter and tighter, the chains groaned. Her ached and burned, but she didn't stop. She twisted with all of her might and the links broke and fell to the floor. The cage door creaked open. Alicia just stared at Ryan for a few seconds. Ryan huffed a few breaths as her heart pounded hard against her chest.

Then Alicia toppled out of the cage, into Ryan, unable to stand. She clung to Ryan, shaking and sobbing, but said nothing. Ryan helped her stand. Alicia blinked rapidly, turning her head this way and that, taking in that she was truly out of the cage and it wasn't just a fever dream. Her hair was matted in place. Her face was dirty. Ryan had to breathe through her mouth because the smell was ranker than the dead. Alicia accidentally stepped on her foot as she tried to gain her balance but it didn't hurt. She was barefoot. _What have they done to you_ , Ryan thought.

"We have to get you out of here, but I can't take you through the house. I still have to get Shay out," Ryan said. Alicia shook. She was pallid, her face taking on hollow features. When was the last time she ate?

Ryan looked around and stopped. The tunnel. It was fucking horrifying, but that was it. The way out.

"There."

Alicia stopped on where she looked.

"NO! No no nononono. Please," she pleaded.

"You're not going to run. You're going to crawl. They're tied up at the top. They can't bend down to get you. All the way to the end. By the looks of it, it goes well past the property line. I'm going to send Shay and her new friend right behind you, okay?"

Alicia's eyes were wide and scared. Ryan took her face in her hands.

"Pageant princess, look at me." Alicia did. "You can do this. Just crawl and don't stop. No matter what."

She handed Alicia her butterfly knife. Alicia gripped it tight. She didn't budge at first, but slowly, lowered to the ground and began crawling. She shut her eyes tightly, which was a bad idea, but Ryan didn't tell her that. She waited until the tunnel and darkness swallowed her and then hurried back to the room that Shay was in.

"She's out. I will return for you tomorrow night. We're getting the fuck out of here," Ryan said quickly.

She and Shay shared another hug before Ryan went upstairs. Arnold said he'd be coming back after his rounds, which she suspected wasn't just for walkers, but for runaways too. She prayed that Grant and Strand and whoever else might be trapped here wasn't out there. She shuddered at imagining those dogs chomping down on human flesh and enjoying it or their captors putting them in that tunnel.

Once back in her room, she shed her clothes down to her underwear and crawled into bed, closing her eyes. Lucky for her. Arnold returned less than half an hour later. He fell asleep quickly, his breathing easily and with peace. She couldn't sleep at all. Her heart pounded painfully, in every direction it felt like. Panic. It was just panic. Her breath was ragged, though she tried to keep it even and quiet. She held her hand to her chest.

As if holding it there would keep it in her chest.

* * *

The sun was bloody hot, beating down in a pulsating throb, threatening to blister skin. A horse nickered nearby. Grant's hand tightened around the sickle in his hand. He was tempted to use it like he thought about doing so many times before. If he did that, these pricks would kill him so quickly, and he wasn't dying. Not today. So, he cut down the wheat. He knew it was Cole up on that horse. Not far off was Strand and Zane were also tending to the crops.

Grant wiped his forehead. He was thirsty. Everything spun around him. He breathed in and out, every intake hot and burning his throat.

"Back to work!" Cole exclaimed. "This isn't vacation you Irish trash!"

Grant tensed, his teeth clenching as his back stung from a sudden whiplash. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but fuck if it didn't hurt. Sweat dripping across the stings made them worse. Cole really liked using that whip. Grant really wanted to use it on him.

Currently, that was the second thing on his mind today. The first was that he could've sworn he saw Kenny this morning. Being here for a month and a half, he could've been delusional at this point, but as he kept thinking about it, the angrier he got. The memory of that Cajun prick kidnapping Ryan played over and over in his head. The way he lit The Canopy on fire. Killed Tuck. Grant's blood boiled and not because of the hot sun. Well, maybe a little bit because of the hot sun.

Another whiplash. Grant dropped the sickle in his hand. His back arched inward. That one stung.

Before Cole could get in another lick, a bell sounded. The lunch bell. It was for everyone. All of the…slaves…went back to the tight, rundown cabin to eat a piece of bread and have a cup of water that wasn't even cold. It did nothing to quench his thirst.

This was a place worse than any hell he could imagine.

"Break time is over! Let's go, mongrels!" Cole bellowed from outside.

Grant stood. Dreaded ache swelled in his feet all the way up to the base of his neck. They were blistered on the bottoms. He rolled his shoulders. Break time…what a fool. Grant tossed him a sideways glance filled with hatred.

Back into the fields. Part of him would've rather been suffering from a damn walker bite to his balls. He quickly knocked on wood at that thought. Nasty though that was. Anything would've been better than this. Soon it would be over. One way. Or the other.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Alicia couldn't see. She didn't know how long she'd been crawling. Every breath in was rank and dust-filled. It was darker than a pitch-black night without stars, and she'd seen her fair share of those. Her arms ached and her legs ached, all four limbs cramping. Stubby, gnarled, crusty, and broken feet moved against her. Metal chinked. The groans were loud. Jaws snapped, biting thin, rancid air. Their rasping, desperate for her flesh, chilled her. She kept going, though she felt she might give up every inch. Her muscles were beyond tired. But, there was a way out. It was coming up. Just had to keep going. _Keeping going. Right through hell._

Light, small like a star, broke into the tunnel. She pushed herself harder, struggling not to stand up and run even though she wanted to. Probably wouldn't be able to anyway. Her legs were worse than Jell-O that hadn't yet solidified. The light grew nearer and nearer until it was blinding her. She closed her eyes because they were rolling to the back of her head from the brightness, but didn't stop crawling. Under her, the cold, solid dirt floor softened and she felt grass ripping under her elbows.

After a few more crawls, she peeked through squinting eyelids. Rays of sunlight, splitting through branches, blinded her. She squinted up. She was out. She rolled over. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths that made her chest ache.

Her joy was short lived as a thought instantly occurred. The slavers were going to be livid when they discovered that she got out which meant they'd send a search party. She had to get out of here. She'd come back later for Shay, but right now she had to run and find a hiding place. The one called Arnold had told her about his dogs to terrify her and he succeeded. They liked meat, especially raw meat right off the bone.

Scrambling up onto her feet, she wobbled a few steps before falling onto her face. Her legs weren't working right. It was from being so cramped up and then crawling. She looked back at the open tunnel. Who knew how many people made it out of that tunnel without a bite. Or how many that didn't.

She got up again, walked a couple of steps, and then took off running, wobbling side to side. Her grungy hair whipped behind her. She didn't look back. _You're coming back later when you've healed up_ , she thought to herself, _you're not giving up on them_.

As she whipped past trees, she didn't know how long she'd been running. Felt like forever. Suddenly a set of hands yanked her against a tree, knocking the wind out of her.

A scream bubbled up her throat. She struggling and fought back, but she was too weak. Her hands were caught instantly, but she didn't give. She kicked at her assailant.

"Alicia. Alicia!"

She stopped, but her body trembled.

"It is you." Her captor enveloped her in a hug. She screamed uncontrollably. A hand quickly clamped over her mouth. They got her. She didn't get away.

"Shhh! Alicia! It's me!" She was spun around. In the process, she thrust her tightly balled fists but didn't manage contact with anything but air. "It's me!"

She stopped unable to focus. Her hysterical eyes met Reed's seriously worried green ones. It was Reed. She stopped breathing. Everything spun around her. Why was everything spinning? The world went black as she felt her knees fall out from under her.

* * *

Ryan felt numb going through the motions. For weeks upon weeks she'd let herself believe she was okay here. That this place was good. Underneath all of this was…and she never…oh god. She wanted to puke she was so disgusted.

"I'm so blind," she said under her breath as she rinsed the fresh peppers that Mary had brought in earlier.

"Hm, dear?" Mama Franny said from behind her.

Ryan smiled and shook her head, hopefully hiding her fear successfully.

"Nothing. Just mumbling to myself."

"Careful," Mama Franny said and then tutted her. "Women who talked to themselves used to be considered unsound in the head."

Ryan exhaled shakily. It took all of her effort to try not to shake. All day, she'd been waiting for the entire plantation to go into lockdown for Alicia, but nothing happened. It was just a usual day. That made her gut clench even more.

"Will you go get Kenny for dinner? I believe he's still tending to the horses," she said without looking at her.

"Yeah." Ryan couldn't leave out the back door fast enough.

She hadn't seen Arnold all day. The day was hotter than usual. Like a damn oven. The sun beat down on her. Sweat trickled down Ryan's neck. She took the usual route back to the stable. She looked around every couple of steps. The day was quiet. She didn't see anybody around. That didn't mean they weren't there though.

When Ryan got to the stable, she saw Kenny finishing up feeding the horses. His back was to her. He was sweltering.

"Franny says dinner is nearly ready," Ryan said to his back.

"Something's wrong today. You feel it?"

Kenny turned and looked past her, out the open door of the stable. His eyes were clouded with trouble. Ryan could feel that trouble. She just couldn't place it. Kenny stabbed the pitchfork he'd been using to fill the horse stalls with hay into the left-over hay nearby. Putting the tip of his glove between his teeth, he pulled his hand free and then did the same for his other hand. After tossing the gloves aside, they headed up to the house.

Ryan hated that the person she relied on right now was Kenny. The prick had killed Tuck and who knows who else when The Canopy burned. Now, he was about the only person that had her back. Shay was still in the basement. Tonight, Ryan was getting her out and she was going with her.

Within the hour, everyone showed up.

Dinner was lively as always. Stories of the day's work floated across the table.

"You're quiet tonight." Arnold tilted his head.

"Just not feeling well."

"I hope you aren't coming down with something." Arnold's brows furrowed with concern.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Even as she said it, her heart lurched abnormally for the second time that day.

"After dinner, I have a treat for you all," Mama Franny sang.

A chill shook Ryan. What kind of treat? She knew it couldn't be anything good. She threw a glance at Kenny. He was stone still; didn't even look like he was breathing. Both of them barely touched their food.

After clean up, the family plus Ryan and Kenny followed Mama Franny out front. Tiki torches were aflame, planted across the front yard around the great willow tree, but the atmosphere was anything but festive. The flickering glow was ominous and gave way to the creepiest cult feeling for Ryan. A lump formed in her throat when Kenny grabbed her forearm, seeing what he was seeing. Their gazes were up on a rope hanging low from a high branch, a noose at the end.

Around the edges of the field, in a semi-circle, a crowd. The…slaves that Kenny told her about when she'd first arrived and that she ignored. They were surrounded by people who were always on perimeter duty. She thought it was for the dead to keep them out, but looking at it now, she was so wrong. The ones they guarded varied in skin color, they all had the same look of fear. Except two.

"Holy hell," Kenny muttered completely shocked.

 _My sentiments exactly_ , Ryan thought. Grant and Strand stood among the crowd. They looked rough for wear: sunburnt, dirty. Their clothes were ripped and beyond that Ryan could see blood. She shuddered. The moment their eyes met with Ryan's and Kenny's they widened. Grant went to take a step toward them, but Strand stopped him. Ryan's heart rattled in her chest.

"Tonight, we'll be doing something that we haven't had to do in a long while." Mama Franny's voice boomed. It was filled with disappointment. "We've had perfect order, but that seems to be going askew lately and we can't have that."

Mama Franny looked directly at Ryan, her eyes burning into her. She looked away at others, like a big top ringleader, garnering her audience for the big show. This was a show Ryan didn't want to attend.

"It seems one of our workers has escaped, but that wouldn't have been possible without a little help."

The group parted like the red sea. Arnold and Cole came waltzing from the house. Arnold had a hold of Shay by the arm. Ryan noted a whip attached to his hip. Cole had that other girl. The girl was crying, her face a mess. She tried to wrangle free and Cole was enjoying it. Shay's face remained stoic.

"When the balance of our working order is thrown off. When you-" She pointed at her slaves. Ryan's stomach rolled. She was about to puke. People were not things you could own. "-think you can just run away. You will be reminded. I. Own. You."

"I'm going to be sick," Ryan said.

"No, you're not. If they notice a hair wrong on you then we're both dead," Kenny gritted through his teeth.

"I. Keep. You. Filthy pigs. Alive. I give your life purpose in this afterworld." Mama Franny's eyes were filled with disgust and rage. "Now, I have to remind you."

She turned to Arnold.

"Bring the bitch forward, son."

Silently and obediently, Arnold did. His face mirrored his mother's.

Shay was a bloody mess everywhere. Her right eye was swollen. Her bottom lip was fat. Her cheeks bled from the heavy beating they gave her. And the rest of the blood trailing down her ankles from underneath her rag dress said they did more than that.

Ryan could feel dinner coming back up. She clenched her jaw tightly. Shay didn't look at her. Refused. Ryan let out a breath finally. Shay wasn't about to give her away. That or she was too traumatized to notice she was there.

"You let her go!" Grant shouted. He tried to break through the ranks. "You fecking bastard bigots! Let her go! I'll kill you!"

One of Cole's people jammed him in the face with the butt of his rifle. Grant was caught by Strand and someone else. He groaned, blood coming down the bridge of his nose.

"Have any last words, dear?" Mama Franny asked Shay, taking her bruised chin in her fingers.

Shay turned her head toward the old woman, yanked back viciously and then spat blood in her face.

"Burn in hell, racist bitch," Shay growled low.

Arnold backhanded her, sending her flying to the ground.

"Dirty animal," Mama Franny snarled.

Arnold grabbed Shay and pulled her to her feet. Dragging her to the noose, he wrapped the rope around her neck, tightening it a little extra.

A whimper broke past Ryan's lips. Her eyes watered with tears. She blinked rapidly trying to make them stop.

"We have to do something," she said.

"We do anything and we end up just like her." Kenny swallowed hard. His hold on her forearm was cutting off her circulation.

Arnold walked over to the rope on the ground; the other side of the noose. He gave one hard pull, and Shay shot up a foot off the ground. Ryan stifled a gasp. If she looked away. If they saw her look away, then she was next.

The other girl that Shay was stuck in that room with was screaming.

Arnold pulled the rope and Shay rose higher. Her feet kicked. Her hands fought to get the rope free of her neck. Cole and others hollered and whooped in celebration. Ryan closed her eyes. Had to.

"Open your eyes," Kenny demanded. "Do it or they'll think you're a sympathizer."

Ryan obeyed. Shay still fought to breathe, trying to get free of the noose as it dug into her throat. Her face lost color as oxygen struggled to get to her lungs. Her legs now twitched and she swayed ever so slightly.

How long they watched, Ryan had no idea. Arnold tied off the rope to a stake in the ground.

"An escapee hasn't been our only issue of late. I've heard murmurings of a rebellion lately," Mama Franny said. "IT. MUST. STOP."

It was silent. Only the sound of crickets permeated the dead air.

"In order to survive. To live. You will obey me," she said.

"Bring him forward," she said. She lifted her hand and pointed her gnarly finger.

At Strand.

"To the trunk."

Strand didn't struggle. Grant did. He surged forward to grab him back, but Strand stopped him. He mumbled something that none of them could hear. Hesitantly, Grant backed off.

Ryan jerked forward.

"Mmmm," Mama Franny hummed with approval like he was a bull up for auction. "You listen. Maybe you will get the others to follow."

Strand bumped into Shay's still feet accidentally, causing her strung body to sway. He paled.

Arnold shoved him against the trunk of the willow, pressing his face hard against it as someone else tied his hands around so that it appeared that he was hugging the tree. Ryan chanced a glance. The others that she and Kenny stood among watched, entranced and enticed. They wanted this. Thrived on it.

"Fifteen lashes. One for each worker we have here," Mama Franny said. "Arnold, dear. If you would."

Arnold pulled the whip from his belt and let it uncoil its ten-foot leather tail. He waved it, lengthening it. The snap in the air made Ryan jolt. She clenched so tightly to stop herself from flinching.

"Count them, Mr. Strand," Arnold ordered. "I have a tendency to lose count myself and I would hate to have to start over."

The chuckle at the end of that sentence said otherwise.

The whip cracked, making contact with skin. Strand didn't scream. Not at first. At first, he grunted, gritting his teeth.

"One."

By number seven he screamed. The air bubbled with violence and hatred.

When it was over, they allowed one of the people from the semi-circle cut his rope and carry him back. Strand leaned on Grant, barely conscious. Sweat glistened on his dark skin in the torchlight. Trails of blood streaked down his legs.

Mama Franny walked up to Shay and touched her feet.

"I don't like doing this," she started, giving them a pat like one would a dog. "But I will not have madness!"

Silence.

Mama Franny's stare cut through the crowd, right to Ryan.

"I am a welcoming woman. A family woman. In this world, there is power in numbers. But, I will not tolerate insolence and betrayal."

Kenny let go of Ryan's arm.

"Now," she turned to the other girl. Shay's roommate. She touched her cheek sweetly. "Who was it snooping around in the basement, hm?"

She shook, still sobbing. She flinched when Cole jostled her.

"Come on, you're safe. You can tell me. Who was it?"

She rose her hand. Pointing with a broken finger. Right at Ryan.

"Fuck," Ryan said.


	18. Chapter 18

**This chapter took me so long to get edited. It was an emotional one and left me empty. Definitely one of those major ones.**

 **Don't forget to review!**

* * *

Chapter 18

All heads turned to Ryan, including Kenny. Each face somehow ranged from creepy blank stare to twitchy blank stare. Completely unnerving with a side of shudders. Arnold looked at her, his eyes burning. His hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. She swallowed hard, knowing that

Ryan grabbed her chest as it was punched by her heart once more and then fluttered. The pain left a bruising sensation for a moment and then mostly faded. Each breath felt strange and hollow.

"You've been a naughty guest," Mama Franny said. "And those who don't like to work or worse, like to sympathize, are dealt with."

Arnold moved fast and there was nowhere for Ryan to run. She was blocked in from all sides.

"Ry!" Grant bellowed.

Mama Franny's eyes widened at his outburst then turned into hateful slits. She seethed with disbelief.

"You _know_ these people? You come here to take this place? Was that your plan?" Arnold snapped, wrapping his hand around her upper her arm and yanking her forward. A look of disgust crumpled his handsome features into something terrifyingly monstrous. "My home. I brought you here. I wanted us to be together. But you're a sympathizing little bitch!"

"Fuck you, you racist !" Ryan screamed.

"Don't kill her." Mama Franny said. A dark smile spread across her face as she came forward. She stopped in front of Ryan. "You're going to die slowly. Starving. In the dark. Alone. The only sound will be your screams."

Ryan tried to break free, but Arnold was stronger than her, his hands like shackles that were bruising her arms as they gripped tighter and tighter.

"Ry! Break free! Run!" Grant shouted.

Arnold jostled her hard, causing her head to yank to the side so rough that a painful tweak surged up her neck, and then he tossed her over his shoulder, leaving her surroundings a blur. All she saw was Shay's feet. All she heard were the riotous sounds of everybody wanting her dead. All she felt was the need to cry, so she did.

Arnold muttered. He uttered words she hated. They were hideous words to say let alone think. The kind of words that left a bad taste in the air and turned a person ugly.

I'm going to die here, Ryan thought right before going limp and passing out from the overwhelming terror that made her hyperventilate.

Alicia's head twitched, turning to the side as if ducking down, trying to get away from an assailant. Then suddenly she shot upward, scrambling back with balled up fists, dust kicking up around her. Her bloodshot eyes, one of which popped a capillary in the corner, were wild as they darted around.

"Whoa," Reed said softly. His hands were extended as if trying to calm a wild animal. "Whoa, Alicia. You're safe."

Her head darted around again, much like a bird taking in scenery in sharp movements, looking for escape routes.

"Nobody's safe." Her words were hoarse and strangled and filled with fear.

Lindsey, Reed, and Trick stared at one another. Those words were more than ominous. They were prophetic.

Troy, behind them, crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her closely. She was completely terrified and unstable. It was alarming because she didn't scare easily. She was like her mother in that way. She was harder than any gemstone known to man, and that wasn't a compliment. But, here she was, cowering and panicked and like a frightened little girl.

How weak and useless, he thought.

"We have to go back. Grant and Strand and Shay are in there," Alicia said. Her words ran together. "We have to go back before they kill them. We have to go. We have to go!"

The look on everyone's faces grew more intense.

"Where the hell did you escape from?" Troy asked. His brows knitted together.

Alicia's eyes broke past everyone else and met his cold ones.

"That's it. Hell. What they do to people…" She breathed heavily, beginning to hyperventilate all over again. A whimper shook past her lips. She couldn't fathom words for whatever these people were.

"Breathe, Alicia! You're starting to have a panic attack," Trick told her. He wrapped his arms around her instantly, creating a cocoon of safety around her, and rocked slowly back and forth. She didn't look away from Troy.

"She's in there now. Ryan's in there." Alicia's wide eyes stared off into a distance none of them could follow.

Trick shook his head. She was just rambling now. Reed blanched and Lindsey's mouth hung open though at hearing her name.

"She's still in shock," Trick said. Alicia's eyes welled with more tears.

* * *

Strand released a hiss. As much as he tried, he just couldn't relax. Every touch to his wounds stung worse than the one before it. Zane was careful, using a shirt to clean the blood on his back even though the shirt probably wasn't clean. He wouldn't be surprised if he got sick and died from infection. The lashes crisscrossed over his flesh were swollen, still beading with blood. Grant was still nursing his broken nose. The blood at the bridge of his nose was mostly dried, but he'd barely bothered to wipe any of it from his face. It kind of suited the fury that colored his face beet red.

"Still didn't get as bad as Frank had gotten. Twenty-five, then they fed him to the dogs."

Strand groaned. He really wished he had a drink right about now.

"Did you see her," Strand asked Grant.

The Irishman managed a nod.

"She might be dead now," Strand said. It was an inconsiderate thing to say about one's friend, but Strand needed Grant to come to terms with it and fast. They were in a tighter spot than before and Ryan was already gone. He needed Grant to think straight. Hell, if he used her death, turning it into nothing but sheer rage, that was something. Distraught and destroyed? No.

"She ain't dead. If she really did help the pageant princess get out they won't kill her. Not at first," Grant said. "These people are sick and twisted, friend. They want to punish her."

Grant held his finger at his temple and made a circular motion to emphasize his words. He wasn't wrong. If Ryan was still alive then who knew for how long after all of this. It wouldn't be surprising if she wanted to end herself if she survived. It may even be justified.

"These people…" Zane chuckled. "You two act like this crazy bullshit wasn't happening before all of this."

Strand and Grant remained quiet.

"Redneck assholes like that have been waiting for their precious South to rise again. What better opportunity to put black folks or any kind of folk that isn't white wonder bread back into their 'rightful' place than during a widespread epidemic?"

"What did you say you did before all of this?" Grant asked, his eyes narrowing on the man with curiosity.

"I was a history teacher," Zane replied. He touched around Strand's lashes carefully. The swelling had gone down a little. Some of them needed stitched. "Here's the thing, you need stitches and all I have is duct tape that I stole from that dumb thimble-twig hick, Cole."

Grant frowned. He was a big believer that duct tape could fix anything, but he was feeling queasy that it could help with whiplashes.

"Ay, that's bloody worse."

"It is." Zane said.

"Just leave it." Strand frowned.

"We can't do that. You're still bleeding. At the very least your wounds need to be cauterized." Zane said it with pity. "You risk infection and it's the best thing we can do for now." He sighed. "And it seems like we're going to have to do your little rebellion early."

"After what just happened, you still want to do that?" Strand chuckled dryly.

"Because of what happened I want to more than ever. I would rather get bitten than let those rotten bastards kill me," Zane said. "They have dressing and antibiotics in that house that we can use. We need to get that girl of there, too, before they destroy her."

"I bet they have a lot in that house we could use," Grant said.

"We stopped those rednecked morons once. We'll do it again."

"Amen," Strand grumbled. The rest of the cabin echoed the sentiment.

* * *

Troy stared at the plantation. From this hidden vantage point, it was vast and wide open. It was well-guarded apparently, or at least according to Alicia. He, Reed, and Lindsey were kneeling in the grass. Several people were scattered across the field.

"Jesus," Reed breathed. "This shit is only supposed to be in the history books. Because it's history."

"What? Did you actually think we were capable of not repeating our greatest mistakes?" Troy said. The question was rhetorical. "We're the worst species on this planet. Just look at what we've done already. Of course, we'd regress.'

"Look," Lindsey said, pointing. Both men turned their heads.

The scowl on Troy's face deepened. There was one specific person with black hair and broad features that they all recognized.

"Fucking Kenny," Reed spat low.

Lindsey couldn't speak. Her face turned a shade of red that underneath her blonde hair was hideous. Tendrils stuck to the sides. Her hands gripped her rifle dangerously. Troy knew a grip like that. It was angry. If that rifle had life, it'd be dead.

Grant was red from the sun. From all the way out here, he was just a small shape, but Troy could tell he was exhausted. Probably dehydrated as well. Everyone out looked like they could pass for dead.

"I'm going in," Troy said.

"I'm going with you," Reed said.

"No."

Reed spun around. His forehead creased with a sweaty scowl at the shutdown.

"No?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Grant is in there. Strand. My sister! And now Kenny? This isn't the time to go off half-cocked."

"Exactly." The single word carried a punch of insinuation and Reed felt it.

Troy turned and started back the way they came. If they got any louder anyone on the perimeter would hear them. If they didn't already.

Reed shoved him from behind. Troy stumbled a step, then stood back upright. He closed his eyes. His chest expanded with a deep inhale, filled with the urge punch Reed square in the face, then deflated with the exhale. Killing Reed would take zero. Zero effort. Zero emotion. And he'd give zero fucks.

Troy didn't have to volunteer to go in there. He didn't even care if they left them all on that plantation and walked away. There was no sense in running into trouble on purpose actually. Doing so would be pointless. The rate of survival would be slim if they did, and why bother if he didn't have any attachments. At least that's what he believed. Or thought he did. The obscure weight in his chest thought otherwise. He didn't know what it meant, but it was there and told him not to give up on them. Maybe it was because they'd saved him and it was time to pay it back. Maybe not. But, he didn't need anyone screwing this up because they were more emotional than one of those Harlequin novels that Ryan had stocked in her library. He didn't touch them but had caught Lindsey grab one off the shelves once. That was then.

And Reed decided to be an ass-hat now. Right. Now.

Troy turned around. An image flashed through his mind. It was so fast that he couldn't remember it, but it was bright and warm and it was reason enough to ignore Reed's outburst even though Reed was filled with so much anger that he might pop like a balloon. The veins in his forehead bulged. He wasn't thinking straight. He'd go down there and start shooting and maybe he'd take a few down but ultimately he'd wind up dead or worse.

"This is why I'm going," Troy stated. "You're a goddamned emotional wreck. You won't get far enough to get anyone out. You see our people in there and you'll lose it and they'll kill you," Troy said calmly, though there was a deadly edge to his voice.

"And you will be able to?"

Reed inhaled deeply, only seeming to get angrier. Troy didn't move. He didn't know how to tell him that he would be just fine in there. He didn't even know how he knew that, but he did.

"Let him go."

All heads turned.

Sophie was holding Basil in her arms. The fox shook in her arms. Trick was behind her.

"He's the only one holding his shit together except for Trick." She gave Trick a sympathetic look. "I think he'd break the second they looked at him crooked."

"And this moron wouldn't?" Reed gritted out. He nodded at Troy.

"Choose your words more carefully," Troy warned.

Sophie looked at Troy. Though she was exhausted and bore a blank look, she was scared, just like all of them were.

"He's already broken," she said.

Kids say the darnedest things. Damn if it wasn't true though. It still stung.

Reed's jaw worked, but he stayed quiet, thinking.

"Fine." He pointed a sharp finger in Troy's face. "You give the signal and we come in. I mean it."

"It's done," Troy smirked.

Troy waited until the next morning before heading out. There was no "good luck" or "be careful". The campground was pretty scarce actually. Only Trick was around. The usual relaxed energy he carried was gone and replaced with deep creasing thought. He was watching the leftover hot coals of the fire. He poked and rolled them with a stick. Basil perked upright at seeing Troy and then jumped to her feet ready for the adventure, except she wasn't going.

"Play it smart," Trick said. "We'll be heading out of this hotspot and keeping to the edges in case they come looking. We raid tonight so try to find them before sundown."

Troy replied with nothing and headed out in the direction they'd gone the day before, keeping his pack light on his back. Better to look weak and desperate. As he followed a back-trail trail toward the plantation he heard a rustling behind him. Basil stalked through the brush, low with her belly to the ground. Like a predator hunting prey.

"You're not coming. Go back," he told her. Basil paused and after some sort of contemplation then trotted up next to him as if it were only a suggestion.

He kneeled down next to her and rubbed her ears then stroked down her back. She hopped up and her front paws landed on his knee. Her whiskers tickled as she nosed up at him needily. Her dark brown eyes were strangely innocent yet not.

"You can't come. Not this time," he told her. She leaned into him. He sighed. She wasn't the only one relying on him. He hated it. He thrust his hand over her, pointing back towards the direction of the campground. She flinched and jumped back a step. "Go back. Now."

Basil whined, tucking her ears back, but went, like a sulking child being left out of the adult stuff. Troy waited until she was out of sight and couldn't hear her soft rustling of paws before continuing onward.

Hours seemed to pass. Even through the trees, the sun was hot. By its position in the sky, it must've been early afternoon. The back of his neck was surely sunburnt by now. Sweat stung his eyes. He kept his eyes peeled even though he'd only ever come in contact with two walkers in the entire time they all had shown up. It was strange. His heart pounded with dread.

He stopped walking when he heard thumping in the distance. Troy looked up and down the beaten path. No, not thumping. Hooves. Horses. His blood went cold. This was it.

Three horses bearing three riders rode up behind him. He quickly stepped off the trail into the grass to avoid getting trampled.

"What the hell is this? A nomad?" One of the riders laughed like it was funny. Troy twitched, already wanting to kill him.

"Looks like a loner to me," another spoke. "What's your name, son?"

Troy's brow furrowed under the blinding brightness of the sun. All three of them were greasy looking hyenas. Dirty from sweat and dirt. The leader was lanky with a bony structure and beard. He was definition backwoods.

"What's yours?" Troy reached to his belt where his knife was. He didn't draw it but was at the ready.

A beat of silence passed and then there was laughter from them. The sound was unnerving because there was nothing funny about this shaky conversation. Troy was ready to take them out right now. The thought actually made him a little giddy. But, he couldn't. He had to play this part. So, he smirked.

"Damn boy, we mean no harm. Just a little weird to find a live one all the way out here. In the middle of the woods." The one who asked Troy his name pointed at himself then each of his friends, introducing them, "I'm Cole. This here is Billy. That's Norm."

"Troy."

They all shared a looked. It was the kind of look that people shared private conversations with in front of people. It wasn't hard to decipher. They were deciding if he was worth killing or not. A devious smile crept across Cole's face.

"Well, Troy," Cole said, leaning forward on his saddle, "you look like shit. When's the last time you ate?"

"A while," Troy replied. Best to keep his answers short, though it wasn't a complete lie.

"How would you like to eat like a king tonight? Hm?"

Troy swallowed hard, making his Adam's apple bob painfully in his dry throat. He was thirsty too.

"What're you playing at?" Troy asked. He couldn't seem too eager.

"Not playing. There's a place not far from here. Mama Franny's. It's like a paradise. And I was thinking," Cole rubbed his chin. "You look like a good enough guy. And live ones are hard to come by these days," The other two snickered. He muttered at them, "Shut up."

Troy looked up at the blue sky, pretending to think about what Cole said. In actuality, he was squinting, unable to see because the sun was so fucking bright.

"What do you say, Troy? Want hot food and a warm bed with possibly a warm body? I bet it's been a long while since you've had any of those." Cole smirked.

A warm body. Troy's stomach churned at that. The way he said it. It was disgusting. It reminded him of his father. He'd had a way of twisting words, too. Making them sound like something other than what they meant. It fucked up his head many times. Troy got a feeling whatever warm body Cole was talking about wasn't freely given, not by the warm body itself. It was the way the man grinned like a sniveling weasel as if it was a joke. Troy didn't want in on it.

They didn't need to know about it. There were people in there. Important ones. These assholes were going to regret doing whatever it they did. He'd make sure of it.

Troy nodded thoughtfully.

"Sounds nice." He paused for effect. "A little too good to be true. How do I know it's not some trap between you and your boyfriends? That you won't kill me?"

"Hell, pretty boy, if we wanted you dead you would be without any talk. Sternum to groin, just like a twelve-point." The one called Billy spoke up. He stroked his beard that was just as blonde as the thinning hair on his head.

"Put it like that I have to see this grand place, don't I," Troy said with a snort.

Cole hopped down from his horse. They walked the rest of the way to the Plantation. A path Troy had walked twice already. Cole made small talk, trying to pluck information out of him like a boy pulling the feathers out of a chicken. It was surprisingly easy to lie. They arrived about an hour or so later.

Troy's eyes widened at the sight. The place was so spacious and open. So much field cultivation. Cole was going on about the place and how lucky he'd been to be accepted by Mama Franny. There was excitement in his voice as if he'd just found a brother in Troy. The problem with that was that Troy had already had a brother. Sucks for Cole.

He looked around, taking in everything. Then he spotted him. Kenny. And he definitely saw him too. He blanched and then turned around and went back in the direction he had been coming from. It took too much effort to keep himself from going after him. He tried to re-focus on what Cole was saying.

"It's around lunchtime. Arnold is out, but Mama Franny is probably in the kitchen. It's her pride and joy." Troy's eyes fell upon to large dogs by the stairs leading up to the porch. "Oh, that's just Conan and Atlas. Don't mind'em. Their dumb dogs, but they're good at catchin' prey."

Cole patted Troy on the shoulder. That wasn't what Troy was looking at. Sure, the puppies were growing pretty fast. They couldn't be more than three years old. It was what they were chewing on. He couldn't make it out. They were really focused on it, their muzzles coated dark red, and he was sure as hell that nobody would want to try to take it if they valued their hands. They snapped at one another when one got too close to the other's piece.

Troy couldn't get a close enough look, but it was meaty and raw. There was pink sinew and bone. There was a small pool of blood at their paws too. It smelled rank. And was that—he paused, feeling his stomach drop like a boulder to the bottom of the ocean—were those…toes?

* * *

Ryan breathed through her mouth. If she breathed through her nose she'd puke again. She didn't bother calling out with pleas or threats. The sounds of the walkers were almost welcoming. She'd even talked to them a few times. Almost named them. Okay, she named one.

"I swear Heath. If you don't shut up…" she groaned. She didn't know how many days she'd been stuck in this dark hell. It was possible that it was only a few hours so far.

That bitch, Tamlyn, was down here at one point. She made the mistake of coming too close to the cage. Ryan shot out and grabbed her by the wrist then yanked her forward, smashing her face on the bars. The sound gave her a sickening satisfaction. Grabbing a hank of her hair, she pulled back her face and then smashed it again and again until Arnold had come downstairs and broke two of Ryan's fingers, prying her off. Tamlyn fell to the ground, sobbing and choking.

"Fucking burn, you shit-bitch," Ryan snarled as she cradled her fingers. "You killed Shay. Fucking. Burn."

Tamlyn only sniffled and whimpered. Arnold growled about how she'd have to be taken care of, like it was a waste. He sent her away like he was punishing one of his dogs. Actually, he would never punish his dogs. He punished her like she was an animal, a rabid one.

He came back later and Ryan pushed the horror out of her head. Stuck it in a box and locked that tighter than Pandora's box. If she didn't she would lose her sanity. She'd lose everything. She just couldn't deal with it. The rules for the world had changed in many areas. All she knew was that the second round with him was nothing like the first. It was worse. Much worse. Blood was sticky with sweat and other unmentionable fluids down her legs and everywhere else.

The door up the stairs opened, breaking her out of her reverie. The stomps down the stairs weren't heavy and angry like Arnold's. They were hurried. Ryan squinted. Kenny stopped at the bottom. He had a flashlight in his hand and like the idiot the Cajun was, he flashed it in her eyes. He was paler than what the light gave off.

He stopped in front of her. She didn't look at him. He was a coward, leaving her in here to rot like this. He was worse than these people. He just stood by and let it happen. He did nothing but reap the rewards that they had. It was sickening.

"Troy's here," Kenny said. Ryan said nothing. It was a ploy to get her to give up the others. A way to get her to talk about the others who were probably dead. So, torture too. "Ry! I'm serious. It ain't no joke, no. I saw him when I was coming back from the stable."

Ryan let her head turn to the side. His voice trembled. The way he looked at her, too. He was afraid. Ryan felt her heart speed up. He was telling the truth. Troy really is here.

Ryan shot forward in her super small space, pressing herself to the bars, gripping them so tightly her hands went numb. If he was here then one of two things was going to happen. He was going to destroy this entire place. They would kill him. Or…

A third and scary thought occurred to her. One she didn't believe.

He'd join them. He'd become one of these people. She shook her head. Troy was out of control and had issues that made him questionable, but he wasn't evil. Like everybody—almost everybody—he was only human, though she wasn't sure he believed that.

"Get him out of here. Tell him to go." The words came out rushed and desperate.

"You know as well as I, he's not leaving without you in his back pocket." Kenny looked back over her shoulder. "I can't get you out, but I feel like he's got a plan. Just hold on."

Kenny shoved something through the bars. Multiple somethings. Ryan, with her good hand, felt around. A bottle and bread which got soggy instantly, and an apple.

"Just hold on, Ry."

He turned and walked back to the stairs. Ryan let out a hollow laugh that made him stop halfway up. This wasn't a laugh for some joke or punchline. It was haunting. It was a warning. An ill sound that would leave a nasty churning of ominous unease inside of him.

"You're dead," she said low. She laughed once more.

* * *

Troy had been shown to a guest room with a bathroom attached. Troy glanced around, surprised.

First, the bed. It had been a long item since he'd lain down. New Orleans specifically, when he and Ryan had gone on that supply trip. But then getting your own bathroom? Even before the world went to complete chaotic shit he'd never had that. That was rich luxury. The kind of thing he sneered at because there was nothing wrong with having to share a bathroom. Right now? He was glad. The privacy was nice. He needed to collect himself.

"Go ahead a get cleaned up," Cole had told him and then, with a brief smile, he left him to his own devices.

He peeked into the bathroom. It smelled like paradise. It was nice. Clean. He leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Cole was right. He looked like shit. Dirt smudged his face. Dark circles sunk under his lifeless eyes. He'd gotten scruffier too. His jeans and flannel weren't much better. His T-shirt was soaked through with perspiration. If Jake saw him like this he'd think he was a wild animal or something.

Turning, Troy turned the knob above the bath faucet. Water came rushing out and he pulled up the diverter. There was a sputter and the shower began pouring, steam filling the room. He quickly shed his clothes and got in. He lurched at first from how cold it was and then leaned into it, relishing it before he switched it over to hot.

This was heavenly. The water pelted his shoulders and back. Sweat and dirt circulated around his feet before slipping down the drain. He didn't know how long he'd stood there. The room was steamy when he finally stepped out and when he looked at himself in the mirror he was stunned.

The person that stared back at him didn't look much better than the person before the shower. He rubbed his cheek. There were at least a couple things he could take care of. He reached over to the cup holding razors, a comb, and a pair of scissors, on the back of the toilet then paused. He picked up a broken piece of elastic next to it—a hair-tie. There was hair still bound around it.

Troy frowned. He wondered…where did it come from? The thought was so brief. He threw it away in the small trash can by the door and then grabbed the razor from the cup. Once he was free of the scratchy and hot facial hair he got dressed back in his clothes and sat down on the bed. He could fall asleep so easily right now but didn't.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Seeing Kenny earlier left him pulsing with rage. But, if he hoped to find Ryan and the others, he had to remain composed. That was growing more difficult by the second.

After a little while, he stepped out of the room, hoping to explore a little. There was barely anyone around, though he could hear a raucous from the kitchen. He paused at seeing a woman in her mid-thirties at the end of the hall. At spotting him, she hurried into one of the rooms, avoiding eye contact. He didn't chase after or even linger on it. He didn't have time to.

Downstairs, the parlor was empty. So was the dining room, though the table was set as if they were getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving. Did they eat like this every night? With the size of their fields, he wouldn't be surprised.

Remaining quiet, he snuck out the front door, being sure not to slam the screen door. From the porch, he glanced around. Way off on the edges were a few horses, no doubt covering the perimeter. Otherwise, it was pretty dead around here. He walked to the far end of the right side of the plantation.

Alicia mentioned some sort of cabin. That's where said Grant and Strand were. He didn't see it at first. When he did spot it, he could barely make it out it blended so well with the woods so well. He jumped down to the ground and hurried across, trying to keep low. He paused, glancing around, then dropped off the side of the porch to the ground as three horses trotted from around the back of the house to the stable. Troy's heart thudded hard in his chest. He didn't move until he could no longer hear their hoofbeats. Then he scrambled and ran.

He burst into the rundown cabin, slamming the door behind him unintentionally. Nearly two dozen eyes stared at him. Some were filled with hatred and fury. Others with fear.

"Holy shite."

Troy spun to the side. Grant pushed past a few men and grabbed him in a hug before he could say anything.

"You have no idea how good it is to see yeh," Grant said after letting go. "Tell me the others are with yeh."

"Reed, Sophie, Trick, and Lindsey," Troy said.

Grant's face fell. Troy understood. Their numbers had been greater and this was what was left. It was depressing.

"Alicia?" Strand asked, from where he sat. "We've been split up, but a couple days ago these people had a…" he paused. "She wasn't there."

Troy met his eyes and nodded before speaking.

"She showed up a couple days ago at the campsite we found last week. She's been in hysterics," Troy told him.

Strand's shoulders slumped with relief. He nodded more to himself than anybody else. His shoulders shook with a silent, grateful sob. She was okay. Alive.

"What the hell is this motherfucker doing here? Hm?" A man he didn't know asked.

"Quiet you. He's one of us," Grant growled.

"He's right," Strand agreed. "He's not the most stable, but he's one of ours."

It wasn't really a compliment, but Troy took it as one. He'd heard worse before.

"He going to help free us?" Another man asked.

Strand looked at Troy for the answer. Though completely drained, he managed to give a questionable glance, also wondering the same thing, which was surprising. Strand didn't often look to others for decisions. He looked as if he'd been beaten within an inch of his life.

"Ry is somewhere in that house. I don't know what they've done to her," Grant said low, for only him to hear. "I don't even know if she's still…" Grant's eyes glazed over with something that Troy couldn't read as he trailed off. "To these people, helping a colored man or anyone not whiter than wonder bread is worse than…"

All of these lost words that Grant couldn't fathom, Troy understood. Some things were too horrifying to be put into words, but they were still understood.

"…Worse than this," Grant said finally. He shuddered, turning a deep shade of angry red. "Worse than being a slave."

Troy's stomach rolled at hearing the word. He blanched. These people were for real. It was still hard for him to wrap his head around. He looked around at each of them. They were dried from the sun and burnt. Exhaustion and fear swam in their glassy eyes. Some looked as if they hadn't eaten in days. Troy had known people who hated black people. He didn't quite understand it, but never said anything.

How could something this disgusting survive? People weren't cattle. They were just people.

"She's a sympathizer. A traitor to her own people in their eyes. I could feckin kill them all, especially after what they did to Shay," Grant growled. His fists tightened at his sides. "They hung her, Troy. Strung her up like she was a goddamned animal and they liked it."

"Boy, if you're really here to help, then you best be getting back. It's no good if you're here when you should be at the main house," the Latino behind Grant said.

Troy was still processing, so he hadn't spoken much. This was too much. It was always too much.

"Zane is right. If you get caught out here and they'll do worse to you than what they've done to me," Strand said. "We're okay. Come nightfall, this place is going to be a battle zone, I promise you that. You better be ready."

"We will be," Troy said.

* * *

Reed paced back and forth. Every so often, he looked up at the sky. Waiting was the hardest part. If only the sun would go down faster. Then he could see his sister again.

"You're making me dizzy," Alicia mumbled. Her eyes followed him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

He stopped and sat down next to her. She hadn't talked much when she wasn't trying to recover from waking terrors. Many times, she'd been caught up in space-y dazes.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked that question so many times already, but she'd barely spoken or managed a nod.

"I'm trying. I just…I can still hear it in my head. The sound of snapping jaws and groans." Alicia shook her head, closing her eyes. "If Ryan is in the same place, she's got to be about as terrified as me or worse. I'm lucky I got out. She got me out."

Alicia's eyes watered. She wiped them quickly.

"If she doesn't make it out…" Her voice quaked with tears.

"She will," Reed said, his voice hardened. He didn't accept any idea that didn't include his twin surviving this fucked up place.

Reed had been afraid before because he didn't really know how to help Alicia, but she had calmed down some. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently into a hug. Missing her family, Strand, tortured for months, she needed this comfort. Surprisingly, she let him hold her while they sat their quietly.

They split apart as Sophie came running around from the back of the camper. Her face was blotchy red and tears streamed down her face. Reed had never seen her look more like the child she was until right now. She was distraught with panic and heartache.

"He's never going to forgive me!" She cried. She turned her head left and right frantically. "I lost her!"

Sophie sobbed even harder, her chest lurching with hiccups. Alicia and Reed shared a look.

"Lost who?" Reed asked gravely. Sophie released a cry.

* * *

"Dinnertime!"

A bell clanged, signaling for everyone from everywhere to come to the house. Troy had returned a while ago, undetected. The sun was well past the trees, blazing the sky in angry reds, oranges, and purples.

Cole was talking to him about joining the patrol and recruitment for new blood. He called it that. New blood. Troy had responded with very little next to nothing. Mama Franny had gotten a good look at him earlier and was utterly smitten as she put it. She had a couple granddaughters—Kelly Ann and Celia—that she thought he could be good for. Sweet girls, she said. The only girls he'd seen were sixteen and seventeen and while they smiled kindly like angels, he could tell they were as uncomfortable as him. He'd felt a disgust that made him blanch. Did she try to sell them off to every man she thought was a potential suitor?

Cole insisted that he sit next to him and Billy. Arnold, Mama Franny's son sat next to her at the head of the table. They'd met briefly. The man seemed so well-mannered that it was almost too much. It was obvious that he was total mama's boy. Hank sat on Mama Franny's other side. It was Troy's luck though, that Kenny sat directly across from him at the long dining table. There were many people, filling the whole table, but Kenny was right there. He was deathly pale, looking at him unblinkingly. It took every ounce of strength that Troy had—and didn't have—to not jump up and jut his steak knife into Kenny's throat. Kenny swallowed hard, causing his Adam's apple to run down his throat.

"You're goin' to love this," Cole was saying. "I caught a beaut this afternoon while you were gettin the lay of the land. It was as if it was meant to be. She walked right on in."

"Yes, you did." Mama Franny beamed with pride like one would with their son. "It's been a while since we've had anything exotic, and right when we got a guest."

Troy felt uneasy suddenly. Something about what she said left him feeling more uneasy than he was already. His heart thumped like a chisel was nailed into it.

Cole rubbed his hands together. The man was practically salivating.

"Celia?" Mama Franny called after her granddaughter. The one that was seventeen. She and Kelly Ann had been bringing the dishes out.

"Comin' mama," she said.

The swinging door from the kitchen swung open and she came out carrying a large, covered silver platter that one would typically use for Thanksgiving turkey.

She weaseled between Troy and Billy, setting it in the center of the table in the only space left in front of both Kenny and Troy.

Cole inhaled through his nose deeply. It did smell sweet. Troy's stomach growled.

"Well, mama, you've been holding out on this surprise. Are you going to tell us or keep on teasin' us?" Arnold laughed heartily.

Celia lifted the lid up off of the platter and stepped back, setting it down on a small table behind them, and then went to her own seat.

"Fox," Mama Franny announced.

Troy let out a stuttering breath as his stomach plunged to the ground. Kenny's eyes widened and met Troy's. His lips parted, his face masked in horror. Troy couldn't think as he stared at the golden, roasted body. Bile rose up in his throat, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

Basil.

 _I'm going to get you killed._ Well, he wasn't wrong. He got her killed. His stomach twisted. It felt like barbed wired had wrapped around it.

"Let's eat," Mama Franny said jovially.

"You okay, Kenny?" Troy didn't know who asked. He couldn't look away from it—her.

"I'm not feeling well, actually. I think—I think I'm going to go lay down for a while," Kenny said, his voice thick.

"Well, alright. We'll save you a plate." That was Mama Franny.

Troy looked up at Kenny right then with a gaze of nothing but rage. Troy would've gotten up right now because he actually did feel sick, but that would be creating suspicion. He watched as Kenny raced out of the room while holding his stomach.

"Cole, dear. This was your catch. You go ahead and do the honor," Mama Franny said.

Troy looked away as Cole cut into it. The fox. Basil. Whispers of excitement worked around the table. He heard a slab be dropped onto his plate. He couldn't do this.

As ridiculous as it was and with all of the denial. She'd been a part of him. She'd nestled her way in. As far as family went, she'd been it. Now, she was this. He couldn't think of it, fathom it. This had been her fate? He told her not to follow. Why had she chosen now of all times not to listen?

After dinner, Troy retreated to his room quickly and puked. He puked until there was nothing left coming up and then puked some more. Everything in him felt sick. His stomach muscles clenched and unclenched. His body ached. His head throbbed as he struggled to not fall apart.

After washing his face and regaining what he could of himself, he was still flooded with emptiness and rage. Two very dangerous things for him.

He was done waiting. He was going to raise this place to the ground now.

He looked out the window. The last bits of sunlight disappeared. Strand and the others would be attacking any minute now. First, Troy had to find Ryan.

* * *

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	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Are you sure you're in any condition to do this?" Zane asked Strand. As the sun sunk further down and the sky darkened everybody was gearing up, they all also seemed to be getting nervous. Whether it was nerves of fear or nerves of excitement, you couldn't tell.

Strand's back was mostly scabbed over, having been scalded over and over by a piece of metal red hot from a lantern flame, cauterized. He shook and throbbed like an angry son of a bitch. There'd been screaming and he sweated bullets, but luckily he didn't lose consciousness.

"I'm getting the hell out of here. Lucky for me—" He looked over at Grant quickly. He wasn't used to team factor, not even now. " _Us_ , lucky for us, we've got people waiting."

"I ain't dyin' here. And I ain't leaving Ry in there," Grant growled. He was still riled up.

"What are we waiting for then? The sun went down," Jasper cut in. "Devin and Quentin are already on their way to the shed." Jasper laughed wheezily then. "Those damn fools handing us weapons, believing we won't use them against them."

"Ye weren't ever going to I reckon," Grant said. "They were breaking you."

"Maybe you're right," Jasper conceded. "But not tonight."

Grant nodded at that. Nobody was breaking tonight. The rest of the cabin rose to their feet. Nothing but rage and hatred on top of desperation to survive was going to get them through tonight.

They wove they're way through the fields, crouching low, blending in with them as they did, so well. The house lights were on. Strand could spot patrolmen around. There were about ten of them.

Strand had to pause. His back felt like it was laced with fire. He really wanted a drink right now. He was pretty sure there was one in that house too.

As soon as they got to the shed, which was more of a small barn, shouts sounded across the plantation. Strand cursed. He figured this wouldn't be silent, but didn't think their cover would be blown so quick.

"The right fields! Five of them! Alert Arnold!"

 _Right field?_ They weren't on the right field. Patrol caught sight of somebody else.

"We need to hurry," Strand said quickly He had a feeling who it could've been. He had a hope anyway.

Gunfire rang out and was short-lived.

"Time to get a move on," Zane said. He grabbed one of the tools from inside and dashed toward the house. Strand looked at them, hesitating on which one to pick. They all had sharp ends, but he was a man of luxury and never had any use for any of them so he had no idea what most of them were for. He went with the most familiar. The pitchfork. It was rusted on the tips, but would definitely pierce through flesh, dead or not.

Grant had disappeared already. Toward the house, Strand guessed. Strand moved toward the house but suddenly stopped as a black blur crossed his path. From behind, there was a deep guttural growling. The kind that came from bloody beasts.

"Oh no."

* * *

Troy heard the gunshots and came racing from his bedroom. Kenny was already in the hall, his head moving this way and that. Their eyes met and Troy's eyes hardened with a glare. In two broad steps, he in front of him. He grabbed him by his shirt. He wasn't sure whether he was going to break his neck or stab him.

"Oy! Troy, lemme go!" Kenny shouted. He tried to push him off, but Troy just shoved him against the banister. "I can take you to her, me. We can get out of here and nobody would notice."

Troy laughed. The Cajun bastard thought he was getting out of here alive. Fucking weasel. The terrified look on Kenny's face intensified. With an even harder shove, he sent Kenny over the banister and watched as he hit the stairs bellow and rolled down to the first floor. He hoped this time he'd break his neck since his last fall didn't do the trick, but still, no. Kenny crawled to his feet, groaning and ran out of sight. Troy bounded down the stairs. The house was nearly empty. A few people ran around. It was a frenzy as people were rushing in different directions. Some to hide and some to fight. He whipped his head around, trying to gain his bearings. The front door was open. Kenny was gone.

* * *

Ryan gripped the bars tightly as she heard the ruckus upstairs. Something was happening. Something big. She thought about calling out, but decided against it. She didn't know who'd come down here if she did. She blanched at the thought.

Whatever kind of revolution was happening up there, she feared how it could end. A massive part of her wished she was a part of it.

* * *

Strand looked at the two dead dogs. He gulped the hot, humid air. Tears stung his eyes. His back was ablaze in unyielding pain. He didn't want to kill the animals, but they'd tasted blood and knew nothing else. The rabidity in their eyes was of Cerberus proportions. Vicious. There was nothing else he could do. Survive. That was it. He was doing, though he might be regretting at the moment.

"Let it burn!" The bellow rang out like a call to the wild.

Horses neighed as their masters rode them hard to chase down runners. It was guerrilla warfare right before his eyes. Shots went off in the air. Men were falling everywhere. Strand stood still, stuck. There was no clear direction.

Then he knew where to go. He could see them clearly and relief pounded against his chest like a fresh drink of water.

"Stick together!" Strand saw Reed. Lindsey was with him, but not Alicia. But his people were here. They'd found each other. He could hardly believe it.

Before he could shout out to them, they disappeared within the raucous and smoke. Strand whipped around. Where did he go from here?

* * *

Grant was sweating buckets. The fires broke out at the stable and barn. Somebody, he betted on Zane, had dumped lanterns and let them burn. Biggest bonfires Grant had ever seen. That on top of the summer heat, it was hotter than a fat ass's chafed balls.

He was working his way toward the house but kept running into problems.

"Well, looky here." There was a whistle filled with chilling malice. "The dirty Irish."

Grant turned. Cole slunk up on him with a pistol in hand. He had a bloody, nasty grin. He'd seen some action already. Grant couldn't guess whether it was loaded or not. He didn't want to find out.

"I bet you thought you'd get out of this," Cole said.

"Bet ye think ye will, ye fecker," Grant snarled.

Cole grinned wider, showing his crooked teeth. Any second now, he'd pull the trigger. No one around noticed. They were too busy running around razing this place to the ground. Grant charged at him, tackling him around the waist, lifting him, and then slamming him to the ground. Hard. He felt the wind leave Cole's body. The man swung and hooked Grant's jaw. His vision spun from the heavy hit, but he swung back and felt Cole's nose break under his fist. Blood coated his knuckles and fingers, but he didn't stop hitting him. Fire was all he could see and smell.

Cole's breathing turned into wheezes and those wheezes slowed until he wasn't making a sound at all or even moving. He was dead. His eyes were swollen and his nose caved in. His right cheek was protruding at a disturbing angle. Grant stared at him, his eyes wide as shock shook him. Never in his life, did he think he could be capable of killing a man with his bare hands. His Ma had always taught him to avoid violence.

This world had other plans.

Grant stood and took a few steps back. His hands dripped with blood. He thought about taking a knife to his head, but that would be a mercy.

"You can walk this world like the rot you are," Grant snarled. "Maybe somebody else will take pity on ye."

He turned and made way for the house. Shouting came from all directions. But Grant heard a familiar voice. It was pretty close. The deep, relaxed tone he knew belonged to one of his friends.

He broke to the open front yard.

"Trick!" Grant shouted.

Trick was by the tree that Shay had been hung from. He spun at the sound of his name. A look of relief flooded his face.

"Bro!" Trick raised a hand in joy at seeing him.

"YOU!"

Both men turned. Mama Franny stood on the porch, pointing a gnarled finger at Grant. The scowl on her face made her look more wrinkled than a nasty, puckered, orange.

"This old crotchety bitch," Grant breathed. He looked at Trick. "Ry and Troy are in there somewhere. Get'em out."

Trick nodded and took off into the house.

* * *

Troy stumbled around the house. He had to find Ryan but didn't know where to start.

"Troy!"

He spun around. Trick came stumbling in through the front door.

"Dude…" Trick stopped a few feet from him. He didn't have to say anything. Troy knew. Trick shook his head apologetically. "We tried to wait…It's like the end of the world out there."

Troy shook his head, still unable to come up with words surprisingly. They searched the first floor, slamming doors. It didn't much matter to be quiet. Anything Trick found he put in his backpack. A First Aid kit. A box of matches. Troy tossed him a bottle of whiskey as a scream broke through the house. Both men froze. The sound was a screech of pin prickling fear. It could peel the wallpaper from these walls. It was a woman. They both knew who it belonged to. Ryan. It came from the kitchen.

"Let me go!" More screaming, then suddenly nothing. Troy and Trick ran toward the kitchen. He paused only briefly when he saw Celia cowering in a corner hiding behind a chair in the dining room.

"This house is going to burn. Get out." Troy told her. She ran, ducking as she went past him as if he'd hit or something worse.

In the kitchen, the door to the pantry downstairs was open. Trick had already gone ahead of him. More screaming ensued and it chilled Troy to the bone because he knew that sound too. It was the sound of murder. He nearly fell down the worn stairs into the dark. In a side room, he caught a glimpse of a body, a woman. A knife stuck out of her neck.

Troy got to the bottom just in time to see Arnold shove Trick backward. Arms reached out and grabbed at him. Trick swatted and struggled but to no avail.

"No!" Ryan screamed.

He'd shoved Trick into the blackness that Alicia had waking nightmares of. A black tunnel of snapping and groaning and never-ending hunger from death. Trick screamed as walkers grabbed onto him at odd angles, pulling him in further and further: under his armpit, by the hair, digging into his ribcage. Their raw fingers dug into his flesh, tearing it greedily like he was dessert.

Ryan cried out, struggling against Arnold. He towered over her by nearly a foot. Her back was pressed against a workshop table stained with blood. Troy didn't stop to wonder if it was her blood. He tackled Arnold from the side, breaking his hold on her throat. She slid to the ground, coughing and choking on the rancid air. She covered her mouth.

"You…" Arnold growled slamming Troy backward. "Son of a bitch. You're going to die just like your friend."

Troy took a punch to the jaw. And then another. Before a third, he twisted to get out from underneath the southern mama's boy and elbowed him. It didn't do much but free him. In a blur of movement, he shoved and swung out and kicked and amid it, Arnold lost his balance and fell into the edge of the tunnel.

Troy scrambled back, letting it have him. It was too late to save him. Bites covered his body and the walkers had torn into his abdomen. Ryan turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

She flinched and tensed harder than a rock when Troy grabbed her. Through automatic response, she even smacked him across the face. He didn't retaliate but held her fast with his arms around her upper arms before she could lash out more.

"Hey!" he barked. "It's me! It's me."

She looked up at him and her eyes watered.

"We have to go. This place doesn't have much longer," he said.

She could barely stand. Blood streaked her face and bruises cuffed her around the wrists and striped up her arms. He couldn't let himself think about what Arnold or anyone else had done to her. Moving for the stairs, he spotted Trick's pack on the floor and quickly shouldered it.

"He…" Ryan said low. "He had that with him when he came down the stairs. That's his."

Troy didn't reply. He couldn't process. He could only do one thing at a time and right now getting the fuck out of this hell was the one thing. Curse of having a one-track mind. He was nearly carrying her up the stairs and then released her once they were in the kitchen.

Ryan pushed away from him to lean against the counter. She coughed, sounding worse. Smoke hugged the ceiling. Troy looked around and then his eyes widened as fire came flying toward them, crashing through the window above the sink.

"Get down!" Troy shouted.

He pulled her to the floor. She collapsed like a lump, still coughing. A board on fire soared overhead and hit the opposite wall, lighting a portrait aflame. Shouting came from outside.

"Burn!"

Troy looked up, his eyebrows risen from the close call. He could barely breathe the tepid air. Looking at Ryan, he could see her black eye and swollen bottom lip in the firelight. Dark purple hands encircled her throat too. He swallowed hard. Had he been a second or two later, she would've been dead too.

"Time to go," he said.

He picked Ryan up to her feet and then pulled her along by the wrist. The parlor was climbing with fire along the wall and ceiling. The stairs had already collapsed. The sunroom was gone. The only way out was through the window in the dining room.

Troy hoisted a chair up and through the window and then lifted Ryan through it. He leaped through the opening right after her. She was already crawling to her feet and scrambling away from the blaze.

"Reed," she wheezed.

Troy took up her side again, helping her stand by having her lean against him.

"He's okay," he informed her.

She called out for him again, but her voice was shot. Grant shouted in the distance.

People were running in different directions. Some were fighting. Many were hollering for a freedom reclaimed. A flash of white-hot pain blinded Troy as he was hit across the back of the head with something blunt. He fell forward onto his knees.

"You stupid little bitch," came a gargled snarl.

Troy raised his head but gasped. Everything spun in a warm orange haze around him. He fell to his side, unable to stay upright. Arnold hovered over him. Blackness oozed from his mouth. His other shoulder was torn, leaving his arm dangling, limp. There was blood seeping through his dress shirt in the shape of a bite mark. His skin had taken on a pale rigor mortis.

"I let you into my home. My bed. I helped you. Goddamn, I was going to make you my wife and equal. You disgust me." In blurry focus, Troy could see he had her by the hair, yanking a whimper out of her. "You are a traitor to our race. Both of you. You probably had them waiting for the right moment to take over."

He spat in her face and threw her down.

"I'll deal with you, but after you watch me kill him," Arnold said.

He stood over Troy, holding a pipe in his hand.

"That fucking Irish took my niece and killed my mother. After you two, I'm going to peel his skin from his body, like the animal he is," Arnold said. A chill made goosebumps rise, even in this heat, over Troy's arms.

Arnold raised his hand with the pipe. Troy kicked him in the hip before he could let it fall. Arnold fell clumsily and Troy took advantage and hit his dead shoulder, eliciting a pained scream from him.

Arnold lashed out and punched Troy in the side of his head. Troy's head felt like it was going to explode. His temple pulsed, burning with a hellfire that made his eyes water. Arnold straddled him. Pipe in hand, he raised it, ready to bash his head in. Troy groaned. He didn't know which of the three of him was about to smash his head into the ground.

 _Sssssck._

Arnold stiffened, freezing mid-swing. Troy stared in horror. The pipe fell, landing softly on the grass next to Troy. Arnold's head was there and then it wasn't. It flew from his shoulders and to the side, rolling twice along the ground. Not so much like a fountain or waterfall did blood gush from his body all over Troy.

Ryan stood over him, breathing so hard that her chest heaved heavily. She held a sickle in her hands much like holding a baseball bat. Blood dripped off the sharp curved edge. She didn't let go of the tool.

"Asshole," she gritted out. Her jaw was rigid, but it was the dead look in her eyes that startled Troy.

Troy stood and looked down at her newly acquired weapon. She was reminding him of that one movie. He and his brother had snuck out to see it. _Children of the Corn V_. It was frightening. Her eyes were dark with hatred.

He reached, hesitating, and touched her shoulder. She flinched and looked up at him. All of that darkness was gone.

"You're alive," she whispered as if just realizing it. She nodded as if accepting it. "I was so alone. I thought I was safe here."

Troy didn't know what to say. He looked around. It was all gone. People were scattering to the outskirts of the plantation, leaving it behind in search of a better life. Ryan was still rambling. Her words were running together. He grabbed her roughly, eliciting a gasp from her, and hugged her tightly. Reed was going to be ecstatic when he found out she was alive.

"Ry!" Both she and Troy turned. Kenny was half limping and half running toward them. "Oh, thank god. Everybody's splitting. I thought we were really going to die there for a second."

Troy yanked Ryan to the side hard but didn't let go of her as he reached behind his back and pulled out a pistol then fired at him without saying a word. The shot rang out over the roar of the fire. Kenny flew back from the impact, clotheslined by the bullet. He didn't move. Troy lowered the gun but didn't look away.

Ryan moved around him to where Kenny lay. Troy had shot him in the forehead. Raising her newly found friend, she brought the moon-shaped blade down, piercing Kenny's skull with the tip. She had to wiggle it a little to pull it out.

They briefly looked up at the large house. The second floor had fallen.

Was this how the world was reborn? Destroyed by death and fire?

"We need to go," he told her, suddenly grabbing her wrist.

Ryan lagged behind, but he didn't stop and he didn't let go of her. She was still coughing. So was he. Smoke inhalation. Black smoke covered the night.

Soon enough they were enveloped by darkness.

* * *

 **Feel free to leave a review.**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Ryan stayed quiet, even though he was hurting her. His hold wasn't tight, but she hurt everywhere. Branches cracked and snapped at her as they had run. Her chest felt like it was on fire. She coughed into her hand and the fire burned up her throat. Something splattered across her palm and fingers. She rubbed her fingers together. Blood. The coppery taste coated her tongue. She quickly rubbed her hand on her jeans which mostly just smeared dirt from the denim onto her hands.

They'd slowed after the roar of the fire was almost a whisper. Troy shoved something into her hand as he kept his gaze up and sweeping for whatever walkers may be close by. A bottle of water. She drank a couple of sips, not letting go of her new toy, then chugged until the bottle was empty. She threw it aside. Littering was at the bottom of her list of worries these days.

She felt better by the littlest bit, but it was better than nothing. Her heart still pounded painfully and strangely. Her eyes stung from the smoke. At any second she felt like she would drop to her knees from exhaustion.

Still, overall, she couldn't speak much.

Troy didn't look at her. He wouldn't. He looked everywhere but at her. Black smoke spread across the sky, but out here, stars peeked through it. Soot and blood covered him.

"It's not that bad," Ryan said, referring to her present well-being.

A lie. She felt broken. Her eyes were heavy. She yearned for sleep. Hell, she could go for a nice coma right about now. But, she was afraid to close her eyes because it could be permanent. She had to be okay even if she wasn't.

"I know how bad it can be," Troy said after a few quiet minutes.

Ryan sighed. She knew he was telling the truth.

Sticks snapped nearby. Ryan's sickle rose up, slicing through the air. Troy was at her side. If it was walkers then they'd either cut them down or run. If they were people then it would depend on whether they were friend or foe, and there were more foes than friends these days.

Alicia and Sophie stepped out of the shadows of the trees slowly.

"It's us," Alicia said quickly with her hands raised up. "It's us."

Ryan let out the breath she'd been holding. Alicia looked at the two of them utterly horrified and took a step back. Ryan and Troy shared a look. She couldn't imagine what kind of horror movie they looked like they jumped out of.

Alicia said, with a nod at Ryan's dripping farm utensil-turned-weapon, " _Children of the Corn_ much?"

Ryan held up her sickle and shrugged. It was pretty sharp. It was nice. If she looked like a serial killer out of a horror movie then oh well. People would think twice about how dangerous she was.

"Ry!" Sophie exclaimed, and hugged her around the waist. Ryan didn't retreat as she squeezed her tightly, causing her body to scream out in pain. She just hugged her back, so glad she was here and alive.

"We need to move. Did you see the others?" Troy asked Alicia.

"Grant and Reed were not far off last time I checked," Alicia said.

"We need to keep moving," Troy said. "We can rest when we get back to the campground."

Branches whiplashed them as the four of them continued through the woods. Ryan felt her grip slipping from Troy's and tried desperately to keep a hold. She didn't want to lose any of them again. But her hand was sweaty and his was bloody from all of the blood that had come out of Arnold's neck. For a second, she slipped, but Troy whipped around and grabbed her by the wrist and scooped her up.

"You're too damn slow," he growled.

Ryan wheezed. Her chest felt like it was going to explode and that she was drowning simultaneously. She didn't know if it was too much smoke inhalation or just not being able to catch her breath, but she was glad he caught her rather than just leaving her behind. Turning her head, she tucked her face against his shoulder, but was careful not to swing her arm and cut him.

She could hear Sophie. She was muttering with concern, but she didn't hear about what. Everything was a blur. At one point, she swore she saw Lindsey's short hair.

Then she was set on her feet. Her chin was yanked up roughly and a harsh light shone in them from a flashlight. Ryan squinted, shaking her head this way and that, and pushed Troy off. He didn't attempt it again, figuring the reaction as good enough to prove she wasn't suffering from any kind of brain damage.

"I'm fine." She spoke hoarsely. She inhaled deeply and then coughed. "I just need to catch my breath."

She looked around as she gulped in the fresh air. She was back at the camper.

"You-you guys have been here?" Ryan said.

"We got lucky and stumbled across it," Lindsey said. She swept Ryan into a tight hug. "We found what you wrote. You must've been losing your damn mind out here alone."

Lindsey shook. Ryan dropped the sickle to the ground. She hugged her back then quickly pulled back.

"Grant and Strand. Grant and Strand were there!" Ryan cried hysterically, her eyes growing big with fear that her friends were still back there.

Flashes of the last few weeks came to a head all at once. She turned to run back in the direction of the plantation and instead ran into a flesh wall that held her steadfast.

"She's in shock," Troy said. How was he so calm? Their people were dead and dying.

"We have to go back for Grant and Strand! You don't understand! They hung Shay and then they…" Her words were lost because she couldn't say it. Her eyes were so dry that they stung when her tears welled up and streaked down her dirt and blood smudged cheeks.

Troy knew what she couldn't finish saying, what she couldn't manage words for. He'd seen it. What he'd told himself was pig meat that the dogs had been chewing on because he refused to think it was human. Because he couldn't believe that it was Shay that those people had fed to those beasts. He pulled Ryan forward, holding her. She tried to fight it, sobbing loudly until she gave in and wrapped her arms around him as her legs threatened to give out.

"Ryan?"

Ryan turned sharply and ignored the sharp pains that shot through her body as she did. Reed came into view with Grant in two and others. His forehead was cut and blood trickled down the side of his head to his jawline. Ryan ran, quickly jumping into her twin's arms, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Oh my god. You're alive," he breathed. He kissed the side of her head.

Ryan felt Grant's hand on her shoulder. Her body shook. Reed's own eyes blurred with tears. He held her so tightly that her ribs felt like they were getting crushed in a compactor. She couldn't even feel the ground under her feet.

Reed released her but didn't look away from her eyes as if afraid she might disappear again. Aches ran up and down Ryan's body. She turned to look at everyone else. Sophie. Lindsey. Troy. Alicia. Strand. New people? Yet there were others missing. Her brows furrowed.

"Where's Trick?" Ryan's voice was hoarse. She checked again. "Basil?"

She didn't see that furry fireball. Her gaze stopped at Troy. His head hung heavily with guilt and heartache. His jaw was tight. He could barely look at her. Ryan hiccupped and shook her head. They weren't dead. Couldn't be.

Troy turned a stalked off.

"I know we're all licking our wounds right now, but we should move. Staying here isn't safe. It's too close to the plantation. We'll attract walkers or the fire could reach us," Strand said.

"At first light," Reed said. Alicia nodded in agreement. "We're still miles out, so the fire shouldn't reach this far I'd think. Not right away."

Lindsey and Sophie set up a perimeter of sorts while Reed worked on getting a fire going in the pit. Ryan stood for a moment longer before sinking to the ground. Her eyes glimmered, but no more tears came. Trick and Basil were gone. Shay was gone. Who else?

"Strand, you sit right down. We need to look at you." It was one of the new ones that had tagged along with them. He was older, greying hair with wrinkles creasing his facial features. His name was Jasper.

Strand sat down on a log and Jasper next to him. He had cloth and a bottle of vodka, both probably stolen from the house.

"This ain't goin' to feel good," Jasper told him.

"I imagine not," Strand said. He motioned for the bottle and took a long swig. "Alright. Let's get this over with."

Ryan pressed her hand to her chest. The ache there hadn't gone away and her throat still burned some and her mouth tasted coppery. She needed more water.

"Eh, lass. You okay?" Grant knelt next to her.

She shook her head numbly. No, she wasn't. Were any of them? Hell and back didn't cover how she felt.

"Water," she mumbled hoarsely. Reed was nearby, watching her as he checked their supplies. Grant held up a hand for him to toss a canteen and then handed it to her. She gulped it down, but not all of it. The burning and taste subsided.

Jasper called Ryan over after cleaning Strand's back wounds, his whip lashes. She shook her head. There were others that needed attention more than her. Her brother might have a concussion.

"I'm okay," she said.

"I'm fairly certain you are not. Let me have a look. I was a physician for thirty years before I retired," he said.

Strand took the bottle as he moved to a new spot to sit. Ryan sat down on the log. Jasper lifted his hand, showing that he wasn't trying to violate her, but he needed to check her pulse and breathing. She straightened upright. He pressed three fingers underneath her jugular. Others started gathering around. That new guy Zane and another, JD, too. Much had been lost, but it seemed that Strand and Grant made a few new friends.

Jasper held her for a moment longer, his brows pressing inward with worry. Ryan took his wrist and pulled it away gently.

"I'm still running on adrenaline," she assured him.

"If you say so." He didn't look convinced.

"For now," she nodded, "I do."

He checked her cuts and scrapes. They were pretty much scabbed over. She didn't have any bites.

"You're skin and bones," he noted.

Her cheeks did feel sharper and her clothes—what was left of them—were extremely loose.

"After sticking me in a cage, they chose not to feed me. I don't know how many days it's been since I've eaten something," she commented.

She'd wash up by the lakeside later. For now, she moved to sit by Reed. Sophie was on her other side. Sophie looked around her as if getting ready to reveal a secret she didn't want anybody else to hear. Ryan watched curiously. Sophie pulled out Ryan's short sword.

"Troy's been holding onto it in case we found you again," Sophie explained, handing it to her.

Ryan stared down at it, speechless for a moment, and then handed it back to her.

"You keep it. It's about time you had something of your own to protect yourself with," Ryan said. Sophie's eyes widened with surprise.

"Are you sure? This is, like, your favorite."

"I'm sure," Ryan replied with a light shrug. "Plus, I have a new toy."

She pointed at the sickle that she laid against the camper. Sophie blanched at the sight of it now that she'd finally gotten a good look at it.

Jasper, Alicia, Sophie, and Lindsey rested in the camper. Zane rested in the bed of the truck. Reed and Grant had gone on perimeter checks. Strand, JD, and Ryan remained around the fire. JD and Strand mumbled amongst themselves. Strand swayed in a drunken stupor and eventually fell asleep. JD went to rest in the front of the truck.

Ryan wasn't sure she'd ever sleep again. She watched the flames of the fire, making sure they didn't die down. After a while, she got up and wandered off into the dark. On the lakeshore, she sat down. It was a clear night, or at least it would've been. Smoke still billowed in the sky, across the half-moon.

The leaves up in the willows swayed and rustled with the breeze. Ryan closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. So deep that her lungs ached at being so full. She shuddered out the air, her shoulders shaking, but she refused to sob anymore. A flash of that crazed look Arnold had given her made her flinch open her eyes. How could she have trusted him? She'd believed he was a good guy and that he wanted to help her. Her stomach rolled and she leaned over to the side just in time. There wasn't very much that came up so she mostly dry-heaved. After her stomach stopped clenching she turned back to face the lake.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now, exhausted from everything."

Ryan turned her head but didn't see who it was. She didn't need to see who it was to know that it was Troy. He had been scarce all night. Drawing her knees closer to her chest, she rested her chin on them. He sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her hair fell around her face.

She didn't have to explain why. He knew. He didn't say anything for a while and when he finally did, she felt another piece of herself shatter.

"I kept saying I was going to get her killed. I get everybody killed."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I thought you were dead."

"I think I might be," she said.

Their shared words were so quiet that the breeze could talk over them. October leaned over, against him, not caring that they were both still a mess. However, in the dim light of the moon, it looked like he'd at least cleaned his face.

"We're all dead," he said. She knew exactly what he meant by that. He put an arm around her. This was as close to comfort as she would get from him and even now she was tense, her skin feeling like it was crawling. She knew he could feel the rigidity coming from her but said nothing about it. She was grateful because she didn't want him to leave her alone. She ignored the disgust rolling in her that made her want to run. It wasn't his fault. He wouldn't hurt her. Hell, he couldn't hurt her worse than what had already been done. That thought helped and she relaxed a little as she watched the water. For a little while, she felt better and safe. But only for a little while. They were never really safe. Not in this world.


	21. Chapter 21

**A new chapter begins for the group.**

* * *

 **The University**

The dawn approached with morning fog and vibrant yet sharp stripes of orange and red of the rising sun. Ryan walked under the willows, touching their curtains of leaves. They were dry, feathery even. Troy trailed not far behind her, not really paying attention, yet unable to look away from the distracted young woman. Mostly, it was the whole "nobody goes anywhere alone" expressed by Reed, and honestly, Troy didn't want to let Ryan out of his at all.

It seemed as if she wasn't totally present in her body. She was still recovering. They all were. He could tell she'd lost some of her wandering spirit though. There was a sadness in her eyes the way she looked around now. She was still incredibly thin, but she'd regained some color to her skin.

She spoke for the first time in hours, making Troy jump just a little. Her voice was soft as if she didn't want to spook herself. The buoyancy he'd seen when they first met, the nerve-tingling intrigue she had, was deflated. Still, there was a small spark there in her. Troy's eyebrows pressed inward.

"Tell me, _Jack_." She turned, tilting her head to one side with a somber, playful look. "Did you miss me? Feel sad that I might've been dead?"

Troy just stared at her for a long moment, having nearly forgotten that she thought that was a cute nickname. It wasn't. He didn't ever tell her to drop it though. Turning his head, he looked up at the trunk of the tree he stood next to and craned his head back, following it to its tops that swayed in the summer breeze.

"Not really," he said. Only a small lie. He did feel conflicted. "But it is good to see you're alive. I did figure you were dead. Can you settle for surprised to see you?"

Ryan smirked.

"At least you're honest, no matter how blunt," she said. "Surprised is always fun."

She wandered back toward him until she stood on the other side of the tree. She pressed her back to it, avoiding the roots sticking out of the ground so that she didn't trip.

"What were you thinking? Staying with people like that?"

It was strange. There was no venom or shame or anger in his voice. Just confusion. Still, she flinched. She clenched her shaking hands into tight fists. She thought she'd been safe. She thought that she'd never see anyone she knew ever again.

"People have a habit of hiding their true faces, even now. I didn't know that those people were like that. I should've expected it…but it didn't. After Kenny, I was just praying I got lucky."

"Are you hiding yours?"

Ryan snorted and shook her head, knowing he meant her true face. She smirked like it was kind of funny that he'd suggest her having nothing other than a true face.

"No. I was when I was dying. These days, I don't see the point," she replied.

She was right. Nearly dying could really bring out the honesty in people. He didn't lie to people before, but he also wasn't in his right mind. Lately, he was glad to not be like that anymore.

Ryan got that distant look again, her eyes glazing over with memories.

"I didn't know a damn thing until I saw them hang her." Her face crumpled as she forced herself not to cry. "I thought it was a miracle that I came across that place. That I had a fresh start after losing the people I cared about. It makes me so fucking sick. Like who does all of that!? Enslaving people? It's like a fucking flash to the dark ages."

Ryan was pale and Troy worried for a moment if she was actually going to vomit.

"I thought…I don't know what I thought," she finished.

"I did though," he said, barely above a mumble. He looked around the trunk at her, his stoic expression unchanging.

"Did what?" She stared up at the canopy.

"Miss you."

"Hm." A small smirk pulled at the corner of her lips.

They wandered back towards the camper after a while. It was a debate whether they should take it when they started moving again. Sophie was a-ways off but not out of sight, feeding and watering the horse. Ryan watched her. Sophie had gotten taller since The Canopy. It was unreal to keep being reminded that she was growing up. Meanwhile, the chatter among the group became nothing but white noise to her until she realized Reed was calling her attention.

"Huh?" she said, her eyebrows raised. She looked away from the ashen, smoldering leftovers of the campfire.

"What do you think?" he repeated.

She'd honestly only heard half of what he said. She shrugged.

"I say we travel. Better to be on the move for a while anyway," she said.

"I agree," Lindsey said. "Who knows what that fire will drag in or how far it'll spread. And it's too big for us to extinguish. It'll be Mother Nature's job to take back her world."

"So, we travel. And then what?" Strand said, aggravated and possibly hungover. His eyes were crinkled around the edges as the bright, yellow sun beat down on the encampment. He was definitely hungover.

"It's the great backpacking trek. Why not?" Ryan raised her eyebrows. "Gas prices are zilch. Taxes are zilch. Cost of living is negative zilch. We can go anywhere. That was the dream before all of this. So let's go anywhere—"

"—The wind takes us?" Alicia asked, shooting her a sarcastic look. Her eyebrows rose and her lips pursed, but there was no amusement.

"I was going to go with where there aren't walkers, but that's cool too."

"Trick would love it," Grant chimed in.

"I don't see what the point of having a set destination is anymore," Ryan went on. "Let's just walk. We'll find out where we're going when we get there."

Strand sighed. It was the most indecisive thing he'd ever heard and he didn't like anything indecisive. Yet, looking around, the others seemed to agree with it. Reed nudged his sister with a half-smirk like he expected nothing less from her. Sophie always agreed with her.

"I like the sound of that," Jasper said. "It don't make a lick of sense, but yeah, I like that."

"I've got nowhere special to be," Zane said. JD nodded in agreement.

Strand looked at Alicia for help. She only gave a half-shrug with a slight shake of her head, which wasn't helpful for him.

It was easy to read the amount of loss on a person's face. Alicia and Strand had lost more than the average. Alicia had grown stony, hiding it better than Strand who typically hid it behind alcohol.

"Sure," Alicia said blandly.

"Alicia," Strand barked low. "We should be out looking for your mother and brother."

"If you want to go looking for them then you're welcome to go," Troy spoke up. Strand threw a slighted glare at him. "You're not forced to stay."

Strand turned back to Alicia.

"After what you told me about him, you want to go on with them?"

Alicia appeared torn. Reed spoke up.

"People change," he said. He tossed a glance at Troy with a shrug.

"Wish I could believe that," Alicia said. Her eyebrows furrowed with sympathy. Troy was taken back by that but was careful not to show it. For Alicia, she just couldn't fully let herself believe that anyone was truly changed after doing horrific things like what he did, though he definitely wasn't who he once was.

The girls, Mary and Celia, the sole survivors of the plantation bonfire extraordinaire, were quiet during the whole conversation and had been watching with wide eyes, huddled together. Even last night when they'd stayed in the camper with Sophie, they were quiet, according to her. Ryan couldn't blame them. Their family was psychotic. So, if they were angry and filled with rage or scared then it was understandable. They were mere kids, close in Sophie's age.

Ryan watched them and a part of her, a part filled with hatred, wanted to string them up like Shay had been strung up right in front of her. It wasn't right to want that, but she couldn't deny the need for more revenge for Basil, Trick, Shay, and even for herself. She swallowed it back because they didn't do it directly though she nearly didn't care. It was their brother and his hideous mother who'd led that place to do what it did. But, it was gone. For good.

"Let's go abroad then," Troy said.

"Last time I went abroad I ended up fighten' for meh life," Grant tried to joke.

Ryan smiled. So did Reed and a few others, but there was no laughter. It wasn't that it was lost on everyone. It was just too soon for it. It would be too soon for the rest of their lives no matter how long or short that may be.

* * *

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